Grim Dawn
by Robin4
Summary: Prior to Harry’s third year, he leaves the Dursleys, desperate to escape. But before the Knight Bus can stumble upon him, he encounters someone far different, and his world begins to change. Complete!
1. The Finding

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, who is kind enough to let people play in her sandbox from time to time.  **Grim Dawn** CHAPTER ONE: THE FINDING 

            "_Lumos_," Harry said quietly, drawing a blinding light from the end of his wand.  Still, he blinked, staring deep into the shadows, certain that something or someone was watching him—and for one short moment, he caught a glimpse of wide and gleaming eyes staring back at him.

            For a moment he stood frozen, unable to move despite the fact that his instincts were screaming at him to retreat.  Just as he started to take a step backwards, though, he heard a hurried whisper speak from not far away.  _"There he is!"_

            Panicking, Harry stumbled sideways, almost tripping over his trunk.  There was something eerily familiar about that voice, and although he could not recall where he had heard it before, Harry knew that it had to be someone sent by the Ministry of Magic.  He'd broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry by blowing up his Aunt Marge; Harry didn't know for sure if they would arrest him or just outlaw him from the Wizarding world, but he knew that he wasn't going to stick around to find out.   Just thinking about the consequences made his heart sink, though, and images of Ron and Hermione immediately sprung to his mind.  He'd have to go on the run, now, and Harry knew that he would miss them terribly.  They were the only real friends he'd ever had—

            A low growl startled him out of his morose thoughts, and Harry spun, raising his wand hurriedly.  However, only the hulking outline of a gigantic dog stood before him; the creature had moved out of the shadows as Harry rushed to escape.  For a moment, he met the dog's pale eyes, and he saw white teeth flash in the darkness as a second voice broke the silence.

            "Quickly, you fool!"

            Two shadowy figures strode up Magnolia Crescent.  Their faces were masked and they wore hooded cloaks of a type Harry had never seen before—but both had wands raised and at the ready.  Taking an instinctive step backwards, Harry suddenly tripped over his trunk, and before he could react, the taller of the two cried:

            _"Expelliarmus!" _

            Before he could react, Harry's wand had been ripped from his hand and he lay helpless on the ground.  He cast a quick glance around for help, but his only asset was his broom; even the giant dog was gone.  Suddenly, Harry felt very, very, alone.

            "Harry Potter…" the first voice drawled.  "Fancy meeting you here…"

            Realization nudged at the corner of his mind even as Harry struggled to his feet.  He knew that he recognized that voice—but his broom was only a few feet away, and if he could make it—

            "Don't even think about it, boy."

            _Lucius Malfoy,_ Harry suddenly thought.  Behind the mask, the tall wizard's aristocratic voice was impossible to miss, and the recognition made Harry feel very cold.  _Somehow I don't think he's here from the Ministry._

            The other wizard laughed as Harry froze.  Malfoy, however, continued: "You'd best come along quietly, Potter.  There's someone who would very much like to see you."

            "What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, his heart beating so fast that he could barely hear himself think.

            "You didn't think the Dark Lord would stay gone forever do you?" Malfoy drawled, strolling towards him.  "Little remains to bring him back…simply _you_."

            "Me?"  If only Harry could keep them talking, then he might have a chance.

            "Yes, you, fool."  Irritation crept into Malfoy's voice.  "Take him, Avery."

            The taller of the two reached for him even as Harry leapt for his broom, hoping against hope that he might be able to reach it in time—but a hard hand grasped his arm, pulling him back.  Not knowing what else to do, Harry brought his right foot forward and kicked Avery in the knee; the wizard howled angrily, but didn't let go of Harry's arm, no matter how hard the boy tugged.  Suddenly, though, Avery cursed, and a giant black shadow soared out of the darkness, growling and snarling dangerously—

            "What the—" Malfoy's aristocratic drawl was gone, tinged with worry and with fear as the humongous dog bowled into Avery, tearing the wizard away from Harry.  Startled, the boy wizard backed away, tripping over his trunk again in his haste to retreat.  

            "Get the bloody dog off me—_Oww_!" Avery howled.  

            A distant corner of Harry's mind registered that lights were coming on all over Magnolia Crescent as the residents began to realize that something _odd _was going on in the street.  But there was no time for thought, or even for action—Harry was strangely frozen as he lay sprawled over his trunk in the gutter.  All he could to do was watch as the dog's teeth fastened on Avery's arm and the wizard yowled again.  

            "_Move_, Avery!" Malfoy snarled, trying to aim for the dog, which was partly shielded by the other wizard.  Malfoy fired off a curse and missed, and Avery finally toppled to the ground underneath the creature's weight.  Unfortunately, that offered Malfoy a clear shot at the dog—

            _"Reducto!"_

            But the dog was gone.  Frantically, Harry looked around for his savior, but could not see the hulking animal—until a shadowy figure rose from the street with Avery's wand in hand.

             _"Stupefy!" _the man croaked, felling Avery even as the wizard struggled to his feet.  Red light washed over the street, illuminating a ghastly white face and matted, long hair.  The hand that held Avery's wand was bony, yet its aim was steady enough, and the mysterious man started to swing around before Avery even hit the ground.  Meanwhile, Malfoy's arrogant voice delved into panicked surprise.

            "You!"  Harry couldn't see Malfoy's expression behind the mask, but he was willing to bet that it was shocked.  Unfortunately, the surprise didn't seem to slow the dark wizard down; immediately, his wand came up.  _"Imperi—"_

            _"Stupefy!"_

            The other was faster, and Malfoy hit the ground with a thud, leaving Harry alone with a stranger who most definitely _wasn't _from the Ministry of Magic, either.  For a long moment, the mystery wizard faced Malfoy's downed form, staring at the unconscious man; then he slowly moved over to collect the other's wand.  His movements were stiff, though, as if he hadn't used his limbs in a long time or had been sitting still for too long.  Finally, he turned to face Harry, and the young wizard blinked in recognition.

            It was him.  It was Black, the escaped convict who had been on the Muggle news.  His black hair was matted and tangled, elbow length, just like it had been on the television.  But his gaunt face was different, now.  On the screen, Black's features had seemed dead; his eyes had been empty and devoid of life.  Now, though, his blue eyes burned with intensity that made Harry's skin crawl.  It hardly entered Harry's mind to wonder how an escaped Muggle criminal might know magic; he was too busy trying to control his breathing and wondering irrelevantly where the dog went.  Black stared unblinkingly at the boy, who for a long moment could think of nothing else to do but stare back—and then he remembered his wand.  It had fallen to the ground with Malfoy, and wasn't very far away at all.

            Harry dove for the wand even as Black blinked for the first time.  Although he knew he had little chance of beating a grown wizard who had two wands in his hands—and Black _had _to be a wizard; nothing else made sense—his reflexes were good from having played two years of Quidditch and he had to take the chance.  Plunging over his trunk, Harry twisted and rolled, coming up with his wand pointed at Black.  However, the Stunning Curse abruptly died before it could leave his lips.

            Black hadn't moved.

            He hadn't even raised his wand.  Either wand.  Instead, he was simply _staring _at Harry as if he'd never seen a thirteen-year-old boy before.  His pale blue eyes were the only living part of his skull-like face, and they were fastened on Harry.  Black's gaze was unnerving, and it sent a chill down the young wizard's spine, but he didn't cast a spell.  Somehow, Harry wasn't sure that he should.  The pieces just didn't add up; nothing made sense.  Black had just saved his life.

            The silence became chilling.  Down the street, voices began calling to one another, and Harry knew that he had to run—but Black continued to stare, and Harry couldn't help but meet his eyes.  _I have to go, he told himself desperately. _Someone is going to find me and then I'll end up in some Muggle police station and they'll—_What _would _they do with Black?  What _could_ they do with him?  Black wasn't just another Muggle prisoner.  He was a wizard.  _A wizard._  And he was on the run from the law, just like Harry.  Another chill wormed its way down his spine as he remembered the Muggle newscaster's words.  _"…Black is armed and extremely dangerous.  A special hot line has been set up…_"_

Suddenly, the escaped convict shook his head, moving so slowly that it seemed like he was underwater.  

            "Hello, Harry," he finally said.  His voice sounded dry and hoarse, as if it hadn't been used for a long time.

            "What do you want?" Harry whispered.  He struggled to keep his hand steady and his wand pointed at the taller man, but it was hard.  

            "My name is Sirius Black…" The voices from the other end of the street grew louder and closer, and Black's eyes nervously turned in that direction.  "We don't have much time."

            "We?"

            Suddenly, Black stepped close to Harry, separated from him by only the width of the trunk.  "Look, I'm going to have to ask you to trust me, no matter what…" Something flashed in his shadowed eyes, and he swallowed.  "I knew your parents, and…"

            "You knew my parents?" Harry asked eagerly, forgetting all about approaching Muggles and escaped convicts.  A part of him knew that he ought to be more cautious, but it was hard to even think straight.  Black had saved his life.  Black had known his _parents_.  "How?"

            "It's _him_!  The convict!" a woman's voice suddenly screeched, and Harry distantly recognized it as old Mrs. Figg, whose house always smelled of cabbage and had too many cats.  "Sirius Black!"

            Black's bony hand reached out and grasped Harry's arm without warning.  "Please," he whispered urgently.  "Trust me.  Fling out your wand and call the Knight Bus.  It's the only chance either one of us has—"

            "Somebody call the police!" a man shouted.

            "The Knight Bus?" Harry echoed cluelessly.

            Running footsteps echoed against the pavement, coming closer and closer.  "Just do it!" Black hissed.  "Tell them to take you to Grimmauld Place!"

            Suddenly, he disappeared from Harry's side, leaving a giant black dog in his place.  Everything snapped into place at that moment, and Harry decided to take the biggest chance of his life.  Without hesitation, he flung his right arm out, trusting in a man he'd hardly met and never even heard of—

            BANG!  Harry threw up his hands to shield himself from the unexpected and blinding light.  At his side, the dog flinched slightly, whining very quietly.  It—Black—stepped very close to Harry as a triple-decker purple bus came into view amongst surprised exclamations from the Muggles.  Written in gold letters over the windshield was _The Knight Bus_, and a purple-clad conductor leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly, oblivious of the staring Muggles.

            "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard.  Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you ant to go.  My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening."

            Harry stared.  Stan Shunpike was hardly any older than he was, and his ears were laughably large.  But the pimpled conductor was looking at him strangely.  "'S a big dog, you have 'ere."

            "He's very well behaved," Harry promised, remembering that some Muggle places didn't allow pets.  What would he do if he had to get on the bus without Black?  He didn't have any clue where or what Grimmauld Place was, or what even to do with the Knight Bus—

            "Woss that on your 'ead?" Stan asked abruptly, seemingly not caring about the dog anymore.

            Harry gulped and pushed his bangs down so they covered his scar.  The last thing he needed was to be recognized by a wizard—but before he could answer, a Muggle's voice came from the darkened street.

            "Call the police!"

            Startled, the conductor's head snapped around to stare at the approaching Muggles.  "What're they doing 'ere?" he demanded nervously.  "They're Muggles!"

            "I know, I know—"

            "Well, c'mon then!" Stan abruptly grabbed Harry by the arm, dragging him onto the bus.  A flick of the conductor's wand made Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage follow, and the dog jumped up right after them.  Harry hardly had time to notice the fact that the bus had beds instead of seats before Stan had turned to face the elderly wizard who sat in the driver's seat.  "Step on it, Ern!  There's Muggles out 'ere!"

            "Muggles?" Ern echoed, squinting out from behind his thick glasses.

            "Just go!" Harry pleaded urgently, staring out the window at the gathering crowd.  One of them was almost close enough to touch the rapidly closing doors, and he recognized Mrs. Figg standing at the back of the group.  Oddly enough, she was just standing there, frowning and looking very, very worried—

            There was a tremendous BANG, then, and Harry was thrown off his feet as the Knight Bus took off.  The dog—Black—barked irritably, but he at least had remained on his feet, seemingly having expected the sudden lurch.  After struggling to his feet, Harry glanced out the darkened window, and noticed that they were on a completely different street.  He let out a relieved breath.  They were safe…for now, anyway.

            "Thanks," he said quietly.

            "No problem," Stan replied promptly.  "Glad te help out."  But then he frowned. "What were you doin' with all those Muggles, though?"

            "I—" Harry swallowed.  He couldn't exactly tell the truth, could he?  "I fell," he said quickly.  "I fell and my wand went off—they must have seen the light or something."

            "Oh.  Well, anyways, you can 'ave this bed," Stan said, helpfully sliding Harry's trunk underneath the bed directly behind the driver.  "This is Ernie Prang, by the way.  Our driver."

            "Hello," Harry said politely, then tried to change the subject before Stan realized how ridiculous his story sounded.  "How much will it cost to go to Grimmauld Place?"

            Stan's brow wrinkled in concentration.  "Grimmauld Place… that's in London, ainchit?" 

            "Yes," Harry answered quickly, hoping that he was right.  If not, well…

            "Eleven Sickles."  Stan smiled.  "But for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the color of your choice."

            "Okay."  After some rummaging, Harry pulled his money bag out of his trunk and shoved some gold into Stan's hand, flattening his bangs out over his forehead as he did so.  Then he sat down on the bed, noticing how Black's uncanny blue eyes followed Stan, watching him carefully.  It was almost as if Black was trying to protect him—

            "Woss your name, again?" the conductor suddenly asked.

            "Neville Longbottom," Harry replied quickly, saying the first name that popped into his head.  Fortunately, Stan didn't ask any more questions, and Harry was left to look out the window in silence, watching trees, lampposts, and mailboxes jump out of the Knight Bus' way.  Every so often, the boy wizard looked at Black, but the dog had laid down quietly on the floor, and seemed to be sleeping—though something told Harry that illusion was a lie.  

            After the bus made a stop and a green-clad witch clambered down the steps, Stan pulled out a battered copy of the _Daily Prophet _and began to read.  It only took Harry a moment to recognize the sunken-faced man whose photograph was on the cover, and he had to catch his breath before he said something foolish.  Instinctively, Harry glanced down at the dog, but Black still seemed to sleep, completely ignorant that his face graced the front page of the Wizarding world's premier newspaper.

            "Can I read that when you're done?" Harry asked as calmly as he could manage.

            "Sure.  I wuz done, anyways," Stan replied cheerfully, handing the paper over.  Harry's eyes widened, then, as he read:

BLACK STILL AT LARGE 

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner

ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding

capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said

the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this 

morning, "and we beg the magical community to

remain calm."

Fudge has been criticized by some members of

the International Confederation of Warlocks for

informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an

irritable Fudge.  "Black is mad.  He's a danger to

anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle.  I have

the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not  
breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone.  
And let's face it—who'd believe him if he did?"

While Muggles have been told that Black is

carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles

use to kill each other), the magical community lives

in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago,

when Black murdered thirteen people with a single

curse.

            For a long moment, Harry stared at the picture, willing it to turn into someone else.  He didn't want to believe that the man who had saved his life was a murderer—he'd stopped Malfoy and Avery from taking Harry to Voldemort.  And he'd said that he knew Harry's parents…

            "Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" Stan asked suddenly, startling Harry out of his dark thoughts.

            "He murdered thirteen people?" the boy whispered nervously, struggling not to look at the dog.  He still didn't want to believe it.  Black had asked him to trust him, and Harry had—betrayal welled up in his stomach.  "With one curse?"

            "Yep," Stan replied with forced lightness, "in front of witnesses an' all.  Broad daylight.  Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?"

            "Ar," Ern said darkly.

            Stan suddenly turned to look at Harry, who was feeling alternately cold and terrified all at once.  "Black was a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo."

            "_What?"_

            "Yeah."  Stan shuddered.  "Very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say.  Anayway, when little 'Arry Potter got the better of You-Know-'Oo—"

            Harry's heart was pounding so loudly that he hardly heard the rest.  Instead, his eyes turned, quite against his will, to look again at the dog.  At Black.

            Surprisingly, the dog wasn't feigning sleep anymore.  His eyes were suddenly bright, and they met Harry's own without hesitation.  Black's words echoed in his head.  _"I'm going to have to ask you to trust me, no matter what…"_  Those blue eyes were watching him pleadingly now, human eyes shining out from a dog's face, and Harry's breath caught in his throat.  _"I knew your parents…_"

            "—all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked down, wasn't they, Ern?  Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone, and they came quiet.  But not Sirius Black.  I 'eard he thought 'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over.

            "Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way.  'Orrible, eh?  'An you know what Black did then?" Stan continued in a dramatic whisper.

            "What?" Harry asked hollowly, simply because Stan seemed to expect it.  Inside, though, his head was whirling.  _It just doesn't make sense, _he thought desperately. _Why would he save me from Malfoy if he was working for Voldemort?  _Harry could hardly breathe.  _Why was Malfoy so surprised to see him?_

            Black's eyes were still on him, and the dog whined quietly, resting his head on Harry's foot.  The boy almost pulled away, but Black kept staring, watching him and asking him, silently, to trust.

            "_Laughed,_" said Stan.  "Jus' stood there an'—'re you alright, Neville?"

            He was staring at Harry, who suddenly realized that he must have gone very pale.  He gulped quickly, tearing his eyes off Black.  "I think I ate something bad," Harry said.  "I don't feel too well."

            He could feel the dog's eyes upon him, but Stan smiled sympathetically.  "You oughta lie down then, probably," he said.  "I'll wake you up when we reach London."

            "Thanks," Harry whispered complying, but he didn't dare turn his back on Black.  His thoughts were all in a jumble—first, the words of the _Daily Prophet _article and Stan's explanation kept running through his head, and second, he kept seeing Black bowl Avery over and stun both him and Malfoy.  It just didn't make _sense_.  Why would Black save him if they all worked for Voldemort?

            Of course, it was entirely possible that Malfoy's father _didn't _work for Voldemort, no matter what Mr. Weasley said—but Harry had _heard _Malfoy say that they were going to take him to Voldemort.  He'd said that _Harry _was the only thing necessary to bring Voldemort back.  But if Black was one of his followers, too, why had he stunned Malfoy and Avery?  _"I knew your parents."_

            Was it possible?  Could they be _wrong_ about Black?  Or was he just lying?  Harry swallowed, glancing once more at the dog.  Black's eyes were flickering between Ernie and Stan now, but every so often they turned again to Harry, watching him protectively.  _Protectively?  _Harry shook his head.  _Why would he want to protect me?_  But Black had saved his life…and Harry had nowhere else to go, anyway.

            He gulped back his fears, trying to convince himself that if Black had really wanted to kill him, he'd be dead already.  And if Black really was a murderer, what was to keep him from cursing Ern and Stan right then?  Why did he keep hiding, and staring at Harry as if Harry ought to trust him?  Making his decision, Harry opened his mouth to tell Stan the truth—but those eyes stopped him.  For a long moment, all Harry could do was stare back at the escaped convict, and then his mouth slowly slid shut.  What did he have to lose?

            He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but Harry never did drift off to sleep.  All he could do was stare in silence, hoping and praying that nothing would go wrong.  But before Harry knew it, he was standing on the street just outside the Knight Bus.  

"Thanks," Harry said to Ern.  Stan helped him with his trunk and Hedwig's cage, then after both conductor and driver bid him farewell, Harry was left standing on the street with Sirius Black.

            There was a gigantic BANG and the Knight Bus vanished; a moment later, the dog also disappeared and left Black standing in its place.  Slowly, the skeletal man straightened, and did not try to stop Harry from pulling his wand on him.  His uncanny eyes just stayed focused on Harry, the only live part of his otherwise dead face.

            "I did not," he said very quietly, "kill those people.  Nor did I ever serve Voldemort."

            He was the only wizard aside from Dumbledore who Harry had ever heard say the Dark Lord's name.  He wished his hands weren't shaking so.  "You—"

            "We can't stay here," Black said hoarsely, glancing up the dark street.  

            "I'm not going anywhere until you give me a reason to," Harry replied grimly, still pointing his wand at the taller man.

            "I can't."  Something pained crossed his shrunken face.  "There isn't time—you've just got to trust me.  Please."

            Harry swallowed, and suddenly the possibilities flashed before his eyes as if he had reached the fork in a road.  To the left lay the safe path, the one that he had stepped upon the moment he had run out of his aunt and uncle's house.  That road held loneliness and hardship, but at least it was one of his choosing.  To the right, though, lay the path that Black was offering—one where chance could mean everything and where he had to trust.  But that road also offered hope, hope that he barely dared to grasp.  The choice, though, was a perilous one: darkness or hope.  And it could only be one.

            Seconds ticked by that they didn't have to lose.  He'd either have to trust or run, and the time for choosing was up.  Harry swallowed.

            "Okay," he whispered.  "Let's go."


	2. The Fidelius Charm

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, who is kind enough to let people play in her sandbox from time to time.  

Author's Note:  Double Update!  I've also updated _Promises Remembered, _which is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  Also, if you haven't read my new story, _Forget Me Not: A Story of Broken Promises_, please check it out.  Click on my user name to access all my stories.

**Grim Dawn** CHAPTER TWO: THE FIDELIUS CHARM 

            Harry sat quietly, hardly able to believe what he'd just heard.  The entire last hour had proved absolutely surreal; first, he'd been led into a dilapidated old house, where he now sat at an old and dusty kitchen table; then, he had listened to the most incredible and unbelievable story.  His mind was whirling under the pressure of trying to comprehend so much information, trying to sort truth from fiction—

            But if there was one thing that he _had _to believe, it was the barefaced emotion evident on Black's face.  The older man was standing on the other side of the dirty kitchen now; he'd stopped pacing, and though he was trying to hide it, Harry knew that he had only done so to get control of his emotions.  Come to think of it, though, that was something that Harry desperately needed to do himself.  Hearing what he had made him feel cold inside.

            _My parents were betrayed by one of their best friends_.  Harry swallowed, staring at Black's skeletal form, watching the wizard's head bow briefly and seeing the glint of something shining on his face before Black swiped it away.  _And another one of their friends got blamed for it._

            "I'm your godfather, you know," Black suddenly said, turning back to face Harry.

            "You are?"  _I have a godfather?_

            "Yeah."  He swallowed.  "Your parents appointed me your guardian, if anything ever…happened."

            He didn't seem able to finish any more than Harry was able to answer.  The silence stretched into long minutes then, and Harry began to trace circles into the dusty table.  Against the far wall, a fire crackled; Black had started it with a quick spell shortly after they had arrived.  The basement kitchen was a gloomy place with rough stone walls and dust covered furniture, and the iron pots hanging from the ceiling did not exactly make the atmosphere more cheerful.  Just like the front hall (which was the only other part of the house that Harry had seen), the kitchen looked as if no one had used it in years. Overall, it was an awful place to spend the night…but it wasn't Privet Drive, and Sirius Black was his godfather.  His _godfather_.

            "Why…" Harry began, and then had to swallow briefly before continuing.  "Why did you escape?  Why now?"

            _Why not before?_  A wild hope was rising inside of him—what if he didn't have to go back to the Dursleys?  Harry had spent his entire childhood miserable and alone, and at the moment, it didn't matter to him that Black was an outlaw.  So was Harry.  They'd both broken Wizarding law, which meant that the Ministry was after them.  When Harry had stepped out the door at Number Four, Privet Drive, he'd been facing a cold and lonely path—but now, all of a sudden, it seemed that might not be the case.  Now, he might not have to be alone.

            Ever so slowly, Black reached inside his robe and removed a crinkled piece of paper, extending it towards Harry, who took it curiously.  Immediately, he recognized it as the picture of the Weasleys that had been in the _Daily Prophet_.

            "The rat," Black said hoarsely. "On the boy's shoulder.  It's Peter."

            Harry looked at him blankly.

            "He's an Animagus," the scrawny wizard explained.  "Just like I can become a dog, Peter can become a rat…" Anger tightened his features.  "I saw him, and it lit a fire in my head…it gave me purpose again.  So I escaped…"

            "How?"

            Black shrugged.  "I could turn into a dog when things got too bad…so, one day I was able to slip through the bars…Dementors can't see, so they didn't know. I swam to shore, and found you.  I meant to only see you, and to follow…but then Malfoy and Avery showed up, and I had to act." 

            Harry had to swallow, remembering how close he had come to…to what?  "Why do they want me?" he asked suddenly.  "Do you know?"

            "Not everything," Black replied.  "Not enough…but from what they said, I gather that they've come up with a way to bring Voldemort back…"

            "And they want me for that."

            "Yeah."

            They sat in silence for another long moment, but now it was a less tense one.  Harry found his eyes resting on Black, still, watching how the man's pale features were illuminated in the firelight.  At first glance, Black looked almost like a vampire, with his sunken eyes and skeletal build—but it was those eyes, now, that seemed to change.  Somehow, they were coming alive, little by little, and Harry found now that Black would meet his gaze openly.  There was still much hidden in the depths of his eyes, but there was strength, too…and something that inspired the boy wizard to trust this stranger, escaped convict or no.

            "Has Dumbledore told you why Voldemort wants you, Harry?" Black asked abruptly. 

            He shook his head mutely, staring.  Harry remembered asking, once, back in his first year at Hogwarts—but what had Dumbledore said?  _When you're older, Harry_.  He could almost hear the headmaster saying those words.  It was always when he was older.

            "There's a prophecy," the other began quietly, moving forward and sitting across from Harry at the dirty table.  "I never heard it, but your father told me a little bit about it.  The prophecy says that a boy will be the one to defeat Voldemort…a boy who was born in July of 1980."  He swallowed hard.  "That's why he went after your parents.  He wanted you."

            "Me?" Harry whispered.  Was it _his _fault that his parents were dead?  Harry blinked, feeling torn and cold inside…had his parents died because Voldemort wanted him dead?  If so, it was all his fault, and—Black grabbed his wrist.

            "Listen to me, Harry," he said urgently, seemingly reading the boy's mind.  His touch was surprisingly gentle for one who had spent twelve years in prison, charged with murdering thirteen people.  "Your parents knew what they were doing.  They made a choice to bring you into this world, and to protect you… They'd be proud of what you've become.  And they would never, _ever_, blame you for their deaths."

            "But—"

            "But what?" Black cut him off gently.  "I knew your parents for years.  I knew your father better than I know myself—and I know they wouldn't blame you.  It's not your fault.  None of this is.

            "If anyone's to blame, it's me.  If I hadn't convinced them to switch at the last minute—" Black's voice broke, and he abruptly let go of Harry's' wrist, looking away.  "I can't tell you how sorry I am for that, Harry," he whispered shakily.  "I would have died before I betrayed James and Lily…but I as good as killed them."

            Harry swallowed once more as the silence lengthened.  Somehow, he knew that he couldn't say anything to make it better—not now, not yet, and maybe not ever.  But he did recognize, from somewhere deep down inside, that chance was staring him in the face.

            "What now?" he finally asked.  "I mean, we can't stay here, can we?  The Ministry is looking for us both…"

            "Both of us?" Black's eyes zoomed in on him, still haunted and hurt, but highly intelligent, too.  "Why are they looking for you?"

            "I blew up my aunt," he answered, shamefaced.  

            A smile finally creased Black's face, and for a moment he looked vaguely human.  "You blew up your aunt?" he repeated dubiously.

            "I didn't mean to," Harry objected, failing to see what was so funny about the situation.  "She insulted my parents."

            "Ah…" Black chuckled dryly; the sound seemed alien coming from behind his gaunt face.  "They're not going to expel you or throw you into prison for something like that, Harry.  Magical children do that sometimes.  It's just part of growing up."

            "Oh."  Harry took a long moment to mull that one over, remembering several other incidents in his childhood when he'd made things happen when he was angry or confused.  It made sense, of course…but that didn't really add up with his other dealings with the Ministry of Magic.  Unfortunately, that didn't solve their _other _problem.  He frowned.  "But we still can't stay here, can we?  Because they're looking for you, I mean.  Won't they know you'd come here?" 

            Black snorted.  "Not likely.  _I_ certainly thought I'd come back to this awful place…" he grimaced.  "But you are right.  They might figure out I've come here…especially Malfoy."

            "So, where do we go?" Harry didn't relish the idea of running away, and forgoing the only life he'd come to love.  But if Black was right, and Voldemort's followers were searching for him, there wasn't anyplace safe for him to stay—except for Hogwarts, and school didn't start for another two weeks.

            "You've decided to trust me, then," Black said softly.

            Harry could have said that he didn't really have a choice, but that would have been lying.  And it would have been wrong.  "Yeah," he replied.  "I have."

            "Then it's up to you," his godfather replied.  "We can run, and try to stay ahead of the Death Eaters…or I can cast the Fidelius Charm and keep you safe."

            "The what?" Harry asked.

            "The Fidelius Charm," Black answered grimly.  "The charm that was supposed to keep your parents safe."

---------------------

            Remus Lupin sat quietly, staring blankly at the newspaper over a cup of tea.  He didn't really care about the tea, of course; it was cooling rapidly and he wasn't paying attention.  Then again, he hadn't made the tea because he was thirsty, either.  Remus had cooked up a pot in the hopes that it might soothe his frayed and frazzled nerves.

            "**BLACK SPOTTED BY MUGGLES IN LITTLE WHINGING,**" the headlines read.  The very thought of that made his stomach churn.  It had been bad enough knowing that Sirius—_Black!_—had escaped, but now… Now it was so much worse.  Remus wasn't dumb enough to have forgotten where Lily's sister and her husband lived.  And he certainly wasn't dense enough not to understand why Sirius had gone there.

            _Why, Sirius?_ he thought for the millionth time…but now the question was different.  Before, he'd always wanted to know why his friend had betrayed James and Lily, and had killed Peter—poor little Peter.  Now he just burned to know why Sirius had to slay their son, too.  Hadn't James and Lily been enough?  Cold bile rose in his throat.  _Haven't you done enough?_

            Not far away, on the kitchen table of his small cottage, sat a letter from Albus Dumbledore.  It was dated the day that Sirius escaped Azkaban, the day when Remus' world had turned upside down.  For a dozen years he had been fighting to overcome his past, bouncing from job to job and trying to pretend that he didn't yearn for the friends that he'd lost.  Remus had moved beyond those blissful—_dark_—years; he had left them behind.  He had refused Dumbledore's offer of a job more than once—the last count had been six times, for six consecutive years.  He hadn't wanted pity, and he hadn't wanted charity, and no matter how much Hogwarts' headmaster claimed that he was offering neither, Remus hadn't been convinced.

            Until that letter.

            _I need you, Remus, _it had read without preamble.  _Now, more than ever._

_            As I'm certain you know, Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban.  You and I both know what—and who—he will be after.  And I believe you, more than anyone, can recognize the danger he presents.  Especially to Harry._

He didn't even need to read the letter again.  Remus remembered it word for bloody word.

_I will not lie to you.   I need a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher whom I can trust.  I know you have turned me down many times, but I again ask you to reconsider, especially in light of recent events.  Out of anyone living, you know Sirius Black the best of all.  If anyone can predict him, it is you._

And of course, he had accepted.  What else could he do?  Harry was the only living reminder of a beautiful friendship, aside from Remus himself.  Harry was the only thing that was left of James and Lily, two of the best friends he had ever had.  He was the little boy who Remus had babysat, who Peter had almost dropped and Sirius had jokingly threatened to steal—_Stop this!_ he commanded himself, feeling old emotions begin to rise.  _Don't think of him.  He's your enemy, now, and has been ever since he betrayed us all._

            Remus swallowed hard, forcing the memories away.  He had to focus on the future, not the past.  He was going to Hogwarts.  Against all odds, he was going to fulfill one of his wildest childhood fantasies—Remus J. Lupin, werewolf, was going to become a _teacher_.

            If the situation hadn't been so desperate, he might have celebrated.  But now, werewolf and danger to the children or not, the gains outweighed the risks.  He wasn't going there just to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.  His purpose ran much, much deeper than that; he was there to stop, and possibly—_hopefully_—recapture one of his best and oldest friends and send Sirius back to Azkaban where he belonged.  If he had to be, Remus would become the human shield between Harry Potter and Sirius Black.

            It was the least he could do. 

            With a convulsive motion, Remus stood and tore his mind off of Harry Potter, Sirius Black, and Albus Dumbledore.  He had two weeks before the school year started, and he had a lot of research to do during that time.  Although he had always loved books, his recent bedside reading hadn't exactly consisted of proper Defense Against the Dark Arts materials.  After all, it wasn't as if Remus ever expected to use those skills again.  His kind wasn't precisely welcomed into teaching, or into the Aurors—no matter how open-minded wizards like Albus Dumbledore were, most of the magical community despised werewolves.  Wandering over to a bookshelf, the future professor removed a volume from the top.

            _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ had been his own text back in his Hogwarts days, and Remus saw no reason to change it.  It was a good book that covered all the basics, including Dark Creatures (though the werewolf section was a tad inaccurate, in truth) to the Unforgivables to Defensive Spells.  He'd already selected a more advanced book for the fifth, sixth, and seventh years, of course, but for the first four, Trimble's book would do just fine.  Flipping through the pages once more, though, threatened to bring tears to Remus' eyes.

            **This is crap****,**Peter's handwriting declared on the werewolf page.  **Even I know better!  **

Desperately, Remus turned the page, trying to blink the sudden mist out of his vision and concentrate.  He'd been searching for good topics to open the third year with…hadn't he?  His searching fingers suddenly landed on the Unforgivables section.

**They ought to make the Dark Mark an Unforgivable, James had written in fourth year.  For once, he'd been quite serious—but then again, James had always done well in class, and Remus couldn't help but agree.  As soon as he had thought that, though, the sudden image of the Dark Mark floating over Godric's Hollow invaded his mind—_No!_**

He tried to slam the book shut, but not before Sirius Black's untidy scrawl leapt off the page at him.  **What's the use?** Sirius had wondered darkly.  **The Death Eaters won't care.**

Then the tears spilled over, and Remus Lupin wept for the man he would hunt and for the boy that had once been his friend.

---------------------

            Morning came all too soon at Grimmauld Place; having been up for most of the night, Harry had begun nodding off as Black started to explain the Fidelius Charm, and the older wizard had abruptly sent him to bed, promising that he would explain further in the morning.  A few Cleaning Charms had both left Black scowling and made one of the rooms habitable enough for the night, and Harry had fallen asleep almost before he could take his shoes off.  He had so much to think about, and had wanted to stay awake at least long enough sort out some of the mysteries that were whirling around in his head, but he'd failed dismally, and only woke up to the smell of bacon.

            Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes.  Sometime, when he hadn't noticed, his trunk had found its way into the room he was in.  Daylight made the room look larger than it had the night before, but it also was disgustingly dirty—Black's quick work had conjured up a set of clean sheets and a pillow, and had made the bed livable, but not much else.  Taking a deep breath made Harry sneeze, and he quickly decided to dress and go downstairs before any more dust could invade his sinuses.  

            The kitchen had been improved somewhat; the dust was gone and the hanging pots and pans seemed less ominous than the night before.  Also, the pantry was open and fully stocked with food.  Harry blinked groggily.

            "Where'd that come from?" he wondered.

            Black jumped, twisting around with an expression of surprise on his face.  For a long moment, something deep and haunted flashed in his eyes, but it disappeared before Harry could think of what to say.  

            "Sorry," he offered quietly.  "I didn't mean to startle you."

            "It's all right." Black offered a forced smile.  His voice, however, sounded like he was still trying to remember how to use it.  "I was just going to get you up.  It's almost eleven."

            "Oh."  Harry had never slept that late in his entire _life_; the Dursleys would never have thought about letting him sleep in.  It was odd, too, watching someone else cook.  Aside from the short time Harry had spent at the Burrow the preceding summer, he'd always been the one slaving over the stove and cooking in the Muggle way.  Black, however, seemed fairly proficient, and several frying pans were flipping eggs by themselves and a flick of his wand levitated bacon out of another pan and floated it over to a plate.  

            "You can sit down," Black said, glancing over his shoulder at him.  "Breakfast will be ready in a minute."

            "Okay."  Feeling weird, he glanced around for something to drink before sitting down.  Once he spotted a carton of orange juice, though, he sat down at the table, wondering what he ought to do and finding himself watching Black curiously.

            For the first time, he noticed that Black's dingy hair had been cut shorter; it no longer hung down to his elbows and seemed cleaner than before.  He had shaved, too, leaving behind a neatly trimmed goatee instead of the full beard that he'd had when Harry had first seen him. He'd also apparently found some wearable robes in the house, because Black almost looked like a normal person instead of the escaped convict that he'd been the night before.  If he hadn't been so skinny and his eyes hadn't been so haunted, Harry might even have been fooled.

            His thoughts were interrupted by food landing on the table, and Harry's stomach rumbled, reminding him of how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten since dinner the night before, and suddenly that seemed ages ago.  However, he waited cautiously, not quite sure how to react, and earned a strange look from Black in response.

            "Go ahead," his godfather said, seemingly surprised that Harry hadn't served himself already.  "It's safe."

            "I didn't—" Harry tried to say that it wasn't that he mistrusted Black's cooking, but he found his objection waved away.  

            "I haven't cooked in years, obviously, but the spells are simple enough, and I sent Kreacher to get the food early this morning."  Black's sentences were becoming longer now, as if he was rapidly adjusting to human conversation once more.  As if to prove his point, the scrawny wizard heaped a good amount of food onto his plate and gestured once more for Harry to do the same.  

            "Who's Kreacher?" he finally asked through a mouthful of bacon, too hungry to think about manners.  Black didn't seem to mind.

            "House elf."  He scowled.  "Complete nutter, and I didn't expect him to still be here—thought my Mum would have decapitated him by now—but dead useful, as I can't exactly go shopping without being arrested."

            "You have a house elf?" Harry asked, thinking of the horrid mess that the house was.

            "Yeah.  Not a very efficient one, or a very polite one, but Kreacher is definitely a house elf."  Black's nose wrinkled up in an expression of extreme distaste.  "If we're going to stay here, though, we'll have to do a lot of cleaning ourselves."

            Something about that look told Harry that Black really didn't like that place, though Harry had gathered that it was his home.  "Do you want to stay here?" he asked quietly.  "I can go anywhere…"

            "Unfortunately, it's the safest place available," Black grunted.  "It's Unplottable and heavily defended, so anyone who tries to come in is in for a nasty surprise.  And with the Fidelius Charm in place, no one will have a chance of finding you."

            "What exactly is the Fidelius Charm?" He distinctly remembered asking the same question the night—or had it been morning?—before, but Harry knew that he'd fallen asleep before he could get an answer.

            "The magical concealment of a secret inside one person," his godfather replied.  "In your case, the secret would be your location.  No one would be able to find you unless your Secret Keeper told them were you were."

            Harry swallowed, thinking of all the possibilities.  "You'd do that for me?" he asked very quietly.  "I mean, what if…?" He couldn't bring himself to finish.

            "It's what I should have done for your parents," Black replied hoarsely, a shadow passing over his eyes.  "I've spent the last twelve years in prison, Harry, when I should have been protecting you.  If I'd have been a little bit smarter, or a little bit faster, none of this would have happened… At the very least, I owe this to your parents.  I owe it to you."

            Harry opened his mouth to respond, but no words would come.  Slowly, Black reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

            "I know you've never had a real family, and trust doesn't come easily to you," he said softly.  "But I'd die before I betrayed you.  I don't say that to scare you, but you need to know.  I've messed up a lot in my life, but I won't fail you."

            "I never thought you would," Harry whispered, meeting his eyes.  Black was right in many ways, and he barely knew the man—but in those haunted blue eyes he saw truth, and he saw hope.  Most importantly of all, though, he saw family.

            "What do I need to do?" 

---------------------


	3. The Rising

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, who is kind enough to let people play in her sandbox from time to time.  **Grim Dawn** CHAPTER THREE: THE RISING 

            The first few days hadn't been exactly difficult, but they had been trying.  If someone had asked Harry how he would expect to spend his time with an escaped convict, cleaning wouldn't have been high on his list of answers.  Yet there they were, cleaning and cleaning and cleaning…and coming to know one another in the process.

            It was odd, Harry would later reflect, how quickly he had come to trust Sirius. But in his father's best friend he often saw a reflection of himself—a lonely and burdened man who was desperately trying to overcome the injustices that life had done him.  Sirius, too, lacked any connection to the real world, and in many ways, that seemed to bring him and Harry closer.  They were each the only family that the other had.

            Little by little, Sirius told Harry of the past.  As he shared the funnier stories with the boy, the laughter would begin to creep back into his eyes until it was quashed by the vivid nightmares Harry knew he had each night.  The moments of melancholy, however, came fewer and further between, and there were times when the two of them could laugh easily, almost as if they were real family, and not caught in the dark tides of time.  The unorthodox pair of convict and boy tackled the bedrooms first, and then moved onto the drawing room; by unspoken agreement, they decided to put off dealing with things like Mrs. Black's ghastly portrait and the boggart that was still stuck in the writing desk.

            Every now and then, if pressed, Sirius would tell Harry about the war.  He spoke very quietly about the time leading up to James and Lily Potter's deaths, about how no one could be sure who to trust—and about the fatal mistake he'd made.  More than once, he'd told Harry about Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, friends who had either betrayed or been betrayed.  His emotional scars were most evident, then, and usually he'd trail off into silence mid-way through a story.  Harry learned not to push too hard; in the end, he figured that there was plenty of time.  In that, he was both completely right and very wrong.

            "So, how does this work when I need to go back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked on the fourth day, which left him only a week and a half before he had to meet the Hogwarts Express.  "I mean, does the Fidelius Charm just go away, or do I just end up invisible to everyone but you?"

            Sirius snorted.  "Not quite.  Technically speaking, the secret that the Fidelius Charm is hiding is your location, not your existence.  Once you leave Grimmauld Place, anyone can see you, and you'll be able to go back to Hogwarts normally."

            "What will you do, then?" Harry suddenly wondered.

            "Watch over you," his godfather replied.  Then his voice tightened menacingly.  "Find a way to stop Peter."

            By which he meant that he really wanted _kill _Peter but wouldn't, Harry was well aware, but he couldn't really argue.  Not after he'd learned what Pettigrew had done to his parents, or what Pettigrew had done to his _friends_.  Learning that Scabbers was really Pettigrew had also been the last straw; Sirius had a hard time stopping Harry from owling Ron right away to let his friend know that his "pet" rat was really a murderer.  In the end, though, Sirius' view had prevailed—and perhaps Harry had a bit of a steadying influence on his godfather, as well.  After all, without Sirius, he only had the Dursleys, and Harry had finally convinced his godfather to try justice first.

            "Can't you just tell Dumbledore?" Harry asked after a moment's reflection.

            "Sure.  If he'll believe me," Sirius replied darkly.  

Harry dropped the coat rack he'd been wrestling with and stared at Sirius. "What d'you mean?  He's got to see the truth!"

            "Not necessarily."  Sirius sighed and turned to face Harry.  "The way Dumbledore sees it, they already _know _the truth.  I was such the obvious choice, and everyone knew that I'd be James' Secret Keeper if he needed one."  His voice grew very quiet.  "Dumbledore had tried to point that out to us, and we just acted like we didn't agree…then changed anyway.  But so far as they know, Peter's dead, and no one knew he was an Animagus to begin with.  Except Remus, and he'd probably as soon kill me as talk to me."

            "But if you bring them Peter, and…?" _And what?_ a nasty little voice asked inside his head.  _What if they don't believe?_

            "Well, if they don't find me before I can find Peter, we've got a chance."  His godfather shrugged.  "Dumbledore's a fair man, Harry, no matter what.  He'll hear me out.  And I suppose that's all I can ask for, all things considered."

            "It's not your fault," Harry said quietly.

            But Sirius just snorted again.  "Damn close enough."

---------------------

            At Hogwarts, the door to Albus Dumbledore's office flew open without warning.

            "Severus?" the aged headmaster looked up, immediately wary of the serious look on his Potions Master's face.  Dumbledore had rarely seen Snape so pale, or with eyes that were so wide—and there was fear carefully hidden in the shadows of those black pupils, too.  Immediately, the headmaster was on his feet, instinctively searching for unseen threats, but there was nothing.

            A swipe of Snape's wand made the door slam shut forcefully.  "He's back," the pale wizard said without preamble.

            "What?" Dumbledore demanded.

            Even then, he only knew one man whom Severus could be talking about.

            "The Dark Lord," the other replied.  "Malfoy and the others preformed a blood ritual…" Snape took a deep breath.  "Avery is dead and so is Amelia Bones."

             Dumbledore's mind was racing, and he felt a chill race down his spine—suddenly, he felt very old.  He had to sit down, soon, or he wouldn't be able to stand… So, slowly, he lowered himself back into the antique chair that had felt so comfortable and secure only moments before.  "Slow down, Severus," he finally was able to say.  "Tell me from the beginning."

            "I was summoned by Lucius Malfoy to aid in the ritual," Snape began uneasily.  "Avery was to be the willing servant, and Bones the enemy—the Dark Lord wanted Potter, but he escaped.  It's ancient magic, of which I'm sure you're aware—"

            "Harry escaped them?  How?"  _And how did they defeat the wards upon Privet Drive?_  His heart was pounding like a roaring storm in his ears, and Dumbledore found it difficult to concentrate.  Snape, however, sneered.

            "Black, would you believe?" he snarled.  "Somehow Malfoy and Avery found the boy outside of his relatives' house, but Black intervened.  Somehow.  Lucius was too furious to make much sense, but he Stunned both Lucius and Avery and made off with the boy."

            "What…?"

            Snape shrugged.  "He's insane, clearly enough.  The fool either doesn't remember what is going on or wants to finish Potter off himself—"

            "Do you know where Harry is now?" Albus cut him off. 

            "No.  But the Dark Lord still wants him, that's certain enough—and he was not especially pleased that Avery was used in the boy's place."  Snape shuddered slightly.  "Lucius was, however, smooth enough to extract himself from the situation, earning the Dark Lord's gratitude for resurrecting him.  Unsurprisingly typical, that."

            Dumbledore's mind was working ridiculously slow.  He let out a cleansing breath, trying to calm his racing heart, but it did no good.  For years, he'd known that Voldemort would return, but he'd never expected it to happen so quickly, and without warning at all—but he knew that Severus was not lying to him.  Albus knew him better than that.

            "The mark is still burning," the Potions Master continued quietly, lifting the sleeve of his robe unbidden.  There, black and angry, gleamed Voldemort's Dark Mark.  It was growing red around the edges, now, fading very slowly, but the strength and power behind the mark told Albus that the impossible had happened…Voldemort was back.  If he hadn't believed Severus, this would be proof enough.

            "Very well, then," he said softly.  "I shall assemble the Order."

AMELIA BONES FOUND DEAD 

Early this morning, Amelia Bones, the longtime head of Magical

Law Enforcement, was found dead near Little Hangleton.  At the

present, the cause of Madam Bones' death is uncertain.

Little Hangleton is located over two hundred miles away from

where the Bones family resides, and it is unclear what the head

of the DMLE was doing in that area so late at night.  Ministry of

Magic officials are currently conducting a thorough

investigation into her untimely demise, and homicide has not yet

been ruled out as a cause of death.

Although the Ministry has not yet released the specifics of

Bones' death, an eyewitness (who declines to be identified)

notes that the cause of death is hard to mistake, as Madam

Bones' head has yet to be found.

            Harry had been the first to read their copy of the _Daily Prophet_, but due to his muffled exclamation, Sirius was looking over his shoulder by the time he'd finished with the front page.  Expecting his godfather to comment, Harry glanced upwards, but encountered only stonily pale features and grim eyes.  Sirius wasn't wearing the haunted expression that Harry had grown accustomed to seeing, though; instead his face was a study in _blankness_, in empty concentration.  It wasn't something Harry had ever from him before, and the lack of reaction was startling for a moment, until Sirius swore.

            Violently, colorfully, and creatively.

            After a long moment, his godfather seemed to regain his composure, but his eyes were still very angry.  

            "What is it?" Harry asked, certain that Sirius understood something that he did not.  However, he received no answer.

            Instead, Sirius strode over to a nearby bookshelf, scanning the titles one by one.  His eyes flickered rapidly over each volume, until he found the one he wanted, which was clearly the oldest book on the shelf.  A completely irrelevant thought crossed Harry's mind as Sirius pulled the dilapidated book off the shelf—_Hermione would kill to get a hold of this library_.  Dust clouded the air as Sirius set the book down on a nearby table, wrenching it open without regard to its fragility or age.  His fingers flew down the pages, searching and scanning…but for what?

            Harry opened his mouth to ask, then thought the better of it, watching in silence instead.  Finally, Sirius let out another exclamation; this one was slightly milder and much quieter, but somehow seemed all the more angry from the way he hissed out the words between clenched teeth.

            "Damn.  Damn, _damn!_"

            "What is it?" the boy wizard repeated, moving over to Sirius' side to look at the same page.

            "Ancient magic," his godfather answered tightly, "very dark, and very old." 

            But even as Harry tried to peer at the torn, wrinkled, and faded pages of the old book, Sirius, in a fit of temper, seized the book and chucked it against the far wall.  The book hit hard and fell to the floor quickly, trailing pieces of pages as it went.  For a long time, Harry stood in surprised silence as the pages fluttered lazily to the ground, peering alternately at the partially-destroyed book and his godfather's angry face.  After a moment, though, Sirius' angry faded abruptly, and the older wizard sighed, slumping against the table.

            "For nothing," he whispered.  "All that, and for _nothing_."

            Sirius suddenly seemed ancient and sad, and Harry could see the lines etched by every loss in his face and heart.  He closed his eyes briefly and let out a long breath; for the space of only a second, Harry swore that he saw Sirius' hands shake.

            "What?" he whispered, feeling a fool but having to ask.

            Sirius' eyes opened.  "Don't you see it, Harry?" he asked sadly.  "Voldemort is back." 

            "How?"  Suddenly, he felt very cold.  Sirius had to be wrong.  He _had_ to be.

            "Old magic, outlawed long before you were born."  Wearily, Sirius walked over and picked up several chunks of the book he'd thrown, flipping again to the proper page.  He read in silence for a moment.  "I see now why Malfoy wanted you.  Your blood, your death, in the ritual would have strengthened Voldemort beyond reckoning."

            Harry swallowed.  It was hard to believe… "He's really back?  You're sure?"   

            "No.  Not sure…but I can't think of what else it might be.  No wizard kills by decapitation, Harry.  Not when the Killing Curse is so much more efficient."  He shook his head.  "I could be wrong, of course, and I pray that I am…but nothing else fits.  Nothing else makes sense."

            "I'm glad you found me, then," Harry found himself saying in a tiny voice.

            "Me too, kid."  Sirius put the book down and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.  "I'll try to get a hold of Dumbledore…he'll know what to do." 

Harry looked up sharply.  "I thought you said that he wouldn't believe you?" 

            "He may not," Sirius admitted.  "But this is much more important.  Even the Fidelius Charm may not be enough to protect you now—not with Voldemort on the loose.   We need to get you back to Hogwarts."

            "I—okay."  Harry opened his mouth to object, to say that he didn't want to not live with Sirius, but he knew that his godfather was right.  And the last thing he wanted to do was put his godfather in danger because Voldemort wanted _him_.  Sirius had had a hard enough life already without risking everything to protect Harry, no matter what he said he wanted to do.

            "Don't worry," his godfather reassured him, misinterpreting Harry's hesitation.  "I'm just being paranoid.  The Fidelius Charm has never been broken before…and I'm not about to tell Voldemort where you are.  No matter what."

            _No matter what_.  The seriousness in Sirius' voice told Harry exactly what he meant, although many adults would probably have assumed that Harry was too young to understand.  Inside though, he shuddered, thinking of what Voldemort would do to Sirius if he found him, of what lengths the Dark Lord would be willing to go just to get Harry.  To tear his mind away from such dark thoughts, Harry changed the subject.

            "Why are you the only adult other than Dumbledore that I've heard call him Voldemort?" he asked.  "Everyone else—Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Professor McGonagall—seems afraid to."

            Sirius shrugged.  "I've never thought that saying a name lends power to someone, I guess," he replied.  "And it seems slightly foolish to hide from that."

            "Yeah."  

            But Harry couldn't get Sirius' words out of his head, couldn't escape the conclusion that Sirius was right.  _Voldemort is back._  It seemed impossible.  Ever since Harry had been introduced to the Wizarding world, he had been worshiped as the Boy-Who-Lived, the defeater of Lord Voldemort, the most powerful dark wizard to ever live.  Everywhere he went, people stared at the scar Voldemort had given him, and _thanked _Harry for saving their world from such terror.  What would they think of him now, the Boy-Who-Couldn't-Keep-Voldemort-Down?  From what little he understood of the previous war, Harry knew that the light side might not have won at all if it hadn't been for his own blind luck…so could they even realistically hope to win now?  To defeat a reborn and powerful Dark Lord?

            He so much wanted to believe that Sirius was wrong, and could tell from the look on his godfather's face that Sirius was wishing the same thing.  But Harry knew, in his heart and soul, that Sirius was right.  Voldemort was back—and now the faceless nightmares that had been plaguing him for the last month made all too perfect sense.  Somehow, he'd known that it was going to happen.  He had known that peace wouldn't last.

            And Harry felt cheated, now, knowing that this one chance at happiness that he'd ever had was about to fade away.  "What now?" he whispered, sounding despondent even to his own ears.

            "We fight."  Sirius' hand was still on his shoulder, and it squeezed slightly, comfortingly.  "Just as we always have.  It won't be easy, but things worth doing rarely are."

            "He's going to come after me, isn't he?" Harry asked quietly.  "He has to."

            "Yes."  At least Sirius wouldn't lie to him.  He never had.

            "And then what?"

            "I don't know, Harry," his godfather replied quietly.  "But I can promise you this…you won't be alone.  Not again.  Not ever."

            Harry glanced up Sirius, hearing the promise in his voice.  It was odd how, despite having known his godfather for only a few days, he trusted him so much.  And Harry cared for Sirius, as well, like he'd never cared for anyone except for Ron and Hermione.  That same care, he saw, was reflected upon his godfather's face.

            "I know," he said.

            On impulse, he hugged Sirius.  The motion clearly took his godfather by surprise, because Harry felt him hesitate, but after a moment, Sirius' arms wrapped around him as well.  Harry had never initiated a hug with anyone before, but he'd wanted to let Sirius know that _neither _of them was alone, and he hadn't been able to find the words to say so.  And words were not needed; they stood in silence and simply understood.  In that moment, Harry knew that he did have a true family, and a lack of blood ties did not make it any weaker at all.  He wasn't alone any more, and he knew that Sirius would never abandon him.

---------------------


	4. The Hunters

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, who is kind enough to let people play in her sandbox from time to time.  **Grim Dawn** CHAPTER FOUR: THE HUNTERS 

            Before Albus had even finished first gathering the Order of the Phoenix, he had received the most frightful message of his life.  The letter was short, bittersweet, and to the point; it was from Mrs. Arabella Doreen Figg.

            **_Harry Potter is missing_,** it read.  **_Sirius Black has taken him._**__

            The owl arrived battered and bleeding; obviously, someone had tired to impede her journey.  Hence, the letter arrived five days late and much missed; for the first time in his long life, Albus Dumbledore nearly gave into an insurmountable urge to fly into a temper and break things.  The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that his fury would do no one any good, least of all Harry, the boy he had promised—_promised!_—to protect.  The boy he had failed.  

            He wanted to weep. 

            Quickly, though, he put his mind to work at more useful tasks, and notified the small group of people who would be essential to the hunt.  The reaction was most likely too little and too late, he knew, but one had to try.  He couldn't quit until he knew for sure of Harry's death…he owed the poor boy that much, at the very least.  And the Wizarding world would never be able to withstand Harry's loss, Albus knew, especially if it was coupled with the knowledge of the Dark Lord's return, which thus far the Ministry had refused to believe, and he had no _solid _evidence to support—unless, of course, he intended to expose and kill Severus for his pains.

            _Sirius Black has taken him._  The thought was enough to send a chill down the headmaster's spine; although he knew that Harry hadn't been present at Voldemort's return, that certainly didn't mean that Harry wasn't in the Dark Lord's hands now.  Black's role in the mess practically insured that Harry had already been turned over to Voldemort, for Albus was under no illusions.  The brilliant boy that he had brought into the Order of the Phoenix had nearly proved to be the death of them all.  Honest, blunt, and mischievous Sirius Black, the Auror who'd turned his back on a family tradition of darkness and bigotry, had been the best liar of them all.  If it hadn't been for Harry…

            _Harry._  Dumbledore swallowed worry back, and added another name to the list, thinking quickly of the few who knew Black well enough to catch him.  His group of hunters would prove to be highly unorthodox…but he wasn't looking for witches and wizards who played by the rules.  He was looking for Harry.

            And he had to succeed.

---------------------

            Violent exclamations echoed down the front hall.

            Harry snickered.  Sirius certainly had a habit of using foul language when he thought Harry wasn't listening, but at least it made him much easier to track down.  Five solid days of work had decontaminated the drawing room and made two bedrooms livable, but the old house was definitely still fighting back with a vengeance.  His schoolbooks had arrived the day before, brought by an angry and mumbling Kreacher who the boy had learned to view with mild amusement.  In the meantime, Harry had been finishing up his homework while Sirius kept waging war on the house.  The break was welcome (after all, Grimmauld Place still gave him the creeps), but he was growing bored with the monotony and decided to see he could lend a hand.

            "I take it that the coat rack isn't cooperating?" Harry asked philosophically, trying not to smile.

            Sirius' head snapped up and he shot his godson a decidedly guilty glance.  "More like Malfoy's wand creating problems again."

            "Oh."  Sirius had been having problems with Lucius Malfoy's wand from moment one; while he admitted that it worked for him _much _better than Avery's, he still maintained that the wand was bent on getting revenge for all the pranks the Marauders had played on the Slytherins back at school.  He'd told Harry about a few of the more colorful ones, and had the younger wizard shaking in laughter, so it wasn't hard to imagine that Malfoy's wand might not like Sirius any more than the wizard himself did.  "Need any help?"

            "Nah.  I was just about finished, anyway."  A carefully aimed spell finally brought the coat rack under control; with a final squeal, it laid still against the floor.  One of the portraits started to protest, but Sirius gestured menacingly and the portrait fell silent.  Apparently not everyone was of the belief that wand didn't work perfectly well.  "Interested in lunch?"

            "Sure."

            Together, they made their way downstairs and to the kitchen.  Harry and Sirius had reached an uneasy truce with Kreacher—they desperately needed the house elf, after all, because it wasn't like either one of them could go gallivanting around outside the house—but they still wouldn't eat anything he prepared.  Of course, Kreacher wasn't about to _cook _a darned thing for that "mangy, ill-mannered, disgrace upon the house of Black" anyway…but they could hardly have cared.  It didn't take very long for Harry and Sirius to slap a few sandwiches together, anyway, and that was a perfectly edible solution.

            Out of the corner of his eye, Harry studied his godfather.  Sirius was gaining some weight back, slowly, and was no longer the skeletal and frightening ghost he'd seemed to be at first.  His hair was both shorter and cleaner (though he kept it long enough to have driven Mrs. Weasley batty), and his eyes were beginning to look less sunken into his face.  Overall, he seemed so much more alive, and he smiled more, too, despite the bouts of melancholy that Sirius was still subject to indulging in.

            "I'm going to Hogwarts today," Sirius said abruptly.

            "Err—today?" Harry squeaked, taken completely off guard.

            "I've got to sometime," his godfather replied.  "You need to go back to school in a week, and getting you to King's Cross might be complicated, considering…"

            "Right," he agreed quickly, mostly because he didn't want to hear Sirius say the words.  Aside from asking a few questions, Harry had avoided the subject of Voldemort, of if they knew for sure or not that he was back.  It wasn't that he was afraid to talk about that, of course…he just didn't want to ruin his happy summer with the dark shadow that threatened to fall across them all.  The _Daily Prophet _had said nothing about it (quite typically), but the clues were there.  Mysterious deaths and disappearances, increased amounts of dark creatures wandering around at night—no one had added the signs together yet, but Harry knew that it was only a matter of time before Voldemort made his move.

            Things were only made worse by the fact that his nightmares often matched faces to the names of those who died during the night.  There was simply nothing else that it could be, and the future was beginning to look very dark.  There had even been rumors of Dementors straying away from Azkaban and preying upon innocent and unaware souls during the dark hours of the night.

            But Dementors were another subject to be avoided around Sirius.  Entirely avoided.

            Sirius smiled slightly, unaware of his godson's dark thoughts. "Don't worry, Harry. I know ways into Hogwarts that even Dumbledore isn't aware of."__

---------------------

            "Thank you for coming, Arthur, Molly," Dumbledore said quietly, gesturing the Weasleys into seats at the table.  The couple glanced at one another silently, wondering exactly what they were doing in Hogwarts' staff room, but trusting Dumbledore enough not to ask yet.  As they sat, the door opened, and Molly turned to see another wizard enter the room.  

            He seemed quite young, though his brown hair was speckled with gray.  Sadness in his eyes made him seem older than his physical appearance indicated, too, and Molly sensed a quietness around him that somehow indicated great and ancient pain.  His robes were patched and faded in places, and for a long moment she wondered what he was doing at Hogwarts, until the next person clomped into the room.

            Mad-Eye Moody she knew of, though Molly certainly didn't know him very well.  Although many called the ex-Auror a paranoid and shady figure who had long since put his sanity out to dry, Molly and Arthur both knew better.  He'd been a genius in his day and still bore the scars; there was hardly an inch of his grizzled face that wasn't marked from his legendary battles against dark witches and wizards.  Moody walked with a limp, now, clunking along on his wooden leg and glaring at the world.  But his gaze softened as Arthur rose to greet him.

            "Mad-Eye!"

            "Hello, Arthur," the other replied gruffly, taking the offered hand after a slight hesitation.  He nodded in her direction.  "Molly."

            "Hello," she replied politely, then turned her gaze as two others walked in.  

            Professor McGonagall she did know well—probably _too _well, considering all the owls she received about Fred and George's antics.  All the same, Molly had the utmost of respect for Gryffindor's strict head of house; all her children had been Gryffindors, and none of them could ever find a fault with the knowledgeable and intelligent Transfiguration professor.  McGonagall's normally stern face cracked into a slight smile of greeting before she took her seat, though Molly received no such welcome from the last man to enter.

            Professor Snape was, as always, greasy, slimy, and simply _sneaky_.  If anyone had asked Molly to describe the perfect Slytherin, Snape would immediately have come to mind.  He was just _dark_.  Snape was also an absolutely horrid teacher, to boot; Molly might not have believed Fred and George's complaints about him if she hadn't heard Percy and Charlie say the same things.  Although competent (quite possibly brilliant, if Dumbledore was to be believed), Snape wasn't even _fair_.  He wasn't fit to teach, either, in her opinion, and Molly wasn't surprised when the oily Potions Master refused to even acknowledge her or Arthur's gaze.

            Dumbledore finally sat down and smiled a welcome to all of them.  "Now that I believe everyone is here, we can get started," he said cheerfully.  "First, though, I believe some introductions are in order.  Arthur, Molly, this is Professor Remus Lupin, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.  Remus, this is Arthur and Molly Weasley."

            "Hello."  The newcomer inclined his head politely and spoke in a pleasant voice; across the table, Snape was glaring daggers at him.

            _So this is the new Dark Arts professor, _Molly couldn't help but thinking.  He seemed rather young for the post, though she supposed that he wasn't really much younger than Snape, if at all.  But his eyes were intelligent, and they were kind, too, which Molly supposed made for a good beginning.  His shabby dress didn't do much to upset her, either, because she knew what hardship was like.  That, and Snape seemed highly put out that Lupin had gotten the job, so something told Molly that this was one professor her children might actually come to respect.

            "I suppose many of you are wondering why you are here," Dumbledore continued.  "And I will not leave you wondering.  This morning, I received a letter from Arabella Figg, a Squib who lives near Harry Potter."

            Molly felt her breath grow short.  Ever since she'd heard of _his _escape, she'd known that something bad was going to—

            "The letter was somewhat delayed in reaching me, but its contents are confirmation of something that I believe you have already guessed.  Sirius Black has taken Harry."

            Molly clamped a hand over her mouth to keep a cry back; distantly, she felt Arthur take her hand, trying to comfort her, but it was no use.  Her heart felt like it was going to break.  "Is he—?"

            "Dead?" Dumbledore finished gently what she could not bear to say.  "We have no reason to believe so, but honestly, I do not know.

            "As some of you know, Lord Voldemort has returned," the headmaster continued gravely; his words made Molly go cold.  _It isn't possible.  It isn't _possible_!_  She hardly heard the rest of what he said.  "Therefore, it is now doubly imperative that we can find Harry before Black can bring him to his master.  For I am certain that if Voldemort gets him, Harry will not survive."

---------------------

            Less than an hour later, Dumbledore and McGonagall had both left to meet with Hogwarts' Board of Governors, a duty that neither could escape.  Their absence, however, left the unorthodox group with no clear leader, and they all sat in silence until Arthur Weasley cleared his throat.  

            "I guess we ought to start by trying to figure out where Black might have taken Harry," he suggested carefully.  

            No one objected, but then again, no one really agreed either.  The only noise in the staff room was pages turning as Moody sifted through a folder full of papers labeled with the Ministry's seal.  Seeing no arguments, Arthur looked at Snape.

            "I suppose you knew him from school—?" he began, only to be cut off by Snape's disbelieving sneer.  The Potions Master's black eyes widened furiously, and he almost launched into a tirade before Remus could interject.

            "No," he said quietly.  "I did."

            Both Weasleys' eyes swiveled to look at him, and Remus had to fight not to flinch under their confused stares.  "I was friends with him at Hogwarts…and with Harry's parents."

            Snape snorted.

            Arthur started to say, "But James and Lily were—" 

            "Gryffindors," Remus finished flatly.  He knew what they had expected, what everyone had expected.  "So was I.  So was Sirius."

            "Oh," Molly said quietly.  

            "That's why I'm here," the Defense professor continued grimly.  "Because I know him.  Or at least I thought I did.  Severus here"—he gestured at his increasingly displeased comrade—"is here because he hates him.  But I didn't always.  And if anyone can find him, I can."

            "Don't overrate yourself, Lupin," Snape sneered.  Remus didn't even let his facial expression change; he was not surprised.  "Any fool with half a brain can guess where Black's gone.  He's gone to Grimmauld Place."

            "That's where you're wrong, Severus."  Slowly, he glanced at the other wizard.  "He hated that place, hated everything it stood for.  Sirius would rather spend time in a tomb than go there."

            Snape snorted.  "You just said that you _thought _you knew him, Lupin.  But maybe he wasn't as different as you thought."

            "Stuff it, Snape."  Moody finally looked up from the papers he'd been studying.  "You of all people out to know about _change._"  Snape reared back as if slapped, but the ex-Auror continued, his magical eye rolling wildly.  "Lupin's assessment is right.  Black hated that place more than he even hated you.  So jump off your high horse and don't forget that I know all about your night job."

            "I fail to see what that has to do with this discussion," the other replied stiffly.

            "Everything."  Moody leered unpleasantly at him.  "You find out what you can, Lupin figures it out, and I catch him.  End of story."

            "It's that simple, is it?  And I suppose the Weasleys, McGonagall, and Dumbledore are just here for moral support?" the Potions Master snapped back, making Remus sigh.  He'd known that leaving the two of them alone in a room was like mixing oil and fire. 

            "Don't be childish," the ex-Auror retorted.

            "Can we get back to the matter at hand?" Remus interjected mildly, trying to head off the storm before it could start.  For a moment, he was sure that Moody would snap back at him, but the older wizard backed off, grunting in agreement.

            "Indeed."

            "So what are we going to do?" Molly wondered.  Remus resisted the urge to thank her; he was sick of being the only voice of reason between Snape and Moody.  It was like riding one of those Muggle roller coasters that Lily had been so fond of.

            "Check everywhere, of course," Mad-Eye replied as if it had been obvious.  "Starting with Grimmauld Place, and then moving onto every cave, abandoned house and building in the London area—"

            "The Shrieking Shack," Remus interjected, thinking out loud and speaking before he'd intended to.  Both Weasleys and Moody gave him an odd look, but Snape understood instantly, and his face curled up furiously.

            "Whatever for?" Arthur replied.

            "We used to go there, when we were in school—"

            "Oh, yes, Lupin, tell them all your secrets, why don't you?" Snape jeered.  "See what they think of you then—"

            _Crack!_  Moody's hand slapped down on the table.  "That's enough out of you!"

            For a moment, it looked like Snape was going to argue, but he finally backed down under the molten fire of Moody's gaze.  A guilty part of Remus really didn't blame the other man for his anger, or for the lingering result of bad experiences and even worse memories—_and even then, I should have known_, he reproached himself once again. _ How is it that we could miss the signs when they were right in front of our faces all along?  _He felt cold inside, remembering.  _We all thought that it was an honest mistake, and I even accepted Sirius' apology—damn him!_

            Even as the memories threatened to assault him, though, he knew what he had to do.

            "He's an Animagus," Remus said suddenly, forcing the words out before he lost the courage to do so.  His throat felt tight.  "Sirius is."

            "_What?_" Moody's voice thundered out with fury that Remus could understand all too well.  The ex-Auror was all but shaking in rage—or was it something else?  Even Snape looked shocked.  "When did this happen?"

            Remus sucked in a deep breath.  "In our fifth year.  They all were—James, Peter, and Sirius…he's a dog.  A big, black, dog.  He looks like a grim."  He forced a laugh that sounded fake even to his own ears.  "Sirius used to think it was funny."

            "All that time…" Moody growled the words under his breath.  His scarred face was pinched in anger, and Remus couldn't blame him.  They'd all been betrayed. 

---------------------

            Night was falling over Grimmauld Place.

            Harry stared out the window, wondering.  Waiting.  He had begun to feel cold inside, despite the warm dinner he'd had a little while before…at first, Harry had tried to wait for Sirius, but his godfather was not yet back.  He supposed that Sirius was still talking to Dumbledore, trying to convince the headmaster that he was innocent—_Unless__—_

            _Don't think about that!_ he told himself sternly.  _Dumbledore wouldn't… _Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.  These things took time, he knew.  Guilty men didn't become innocent overnight, no matter how much he might want them to.  Dumbledore would probably have lots of questions, and Sirius would have to tell his story over and over again…not to mention the fact that they'd have to find Scabbers—_Peter_—in order to prove him right.  It might take awhile.  Sirius had warned Harry that it might even take all day, but he'd let him know if it did.

            Except it was night now, and Sirius hadn't gotten in touch with him. Harry hadn't heard anything at all.  He was starting to feel very cold.

            He hadn't really been listening when Sirius had lectured him about what to do if he didn't come back.  Harry hadn't thought it possible…but now he started to think of the hundred things that could have gone wrong.  Sirius could have been caught by a dogcatcher, found by the Ministry, found by Voldemort—

            Harry shuddered.  Or maybe Dumbledore just didn't believe him.  Maybe Sirius was back in Azkaban already.  Maybe the only family he had was lost…  

            Impulse almost made him grab his father's invisibility cloak and head outside on his own, but while Harry hadn't been listening to Sirius telling him what to do if he didn't come back, he hadn't been able to avoid promising Sirius that he wouldn't leave Grimmauld Place no matter what.  _No matter what, _Sirius had made him promise.  Harry knew it was for his own safety, but that didn't mean it was right.  He'd made a promise, though…and now it hurt like mad.

            _Please come back Sirius,_ he begged the night.  Harry didn't think that he could losing Sirius; not now, when he'd just started to get to know him.  Sirius was the only family he'd ever had, and Harry wasn't about to let go without a fight.  Grimly, he made himself a new and different promise.  If Sirius wasn't back by morning, he'd go find him.  Some things were more important than his own safety.

---------------------


	5. The Hunt

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, who is kind enough to let people play in her sandbox from time to time.  **Grim Dawn** CHAPTER FIVE: THE HUNT 

            Dawn.

            Harry had been up all night, waiting.  Every noise he'd heard he had hoped would be Sirius coming home—but nothing had happened.  Night had passed, and Sirius hadn't come.

            Decision hardened his features, and Harry set his jaw stubbornly, heading upstairs to fetch his father's invisibility cloak.  Deep inside, Harry knew that something had gone desperately wrong.  Sirius wouldn't have been gone for so long without letting him know, and if he'd been spotted by the Ministry—_don't think about that_, he commanded himself sternly.  Even though Sirius never said so, Harry knew that twelve years in Azkaban had scarred his godfather deeply.  What the Ministry didn't know, though, was that Sirius didn't deserve that kind of pain.  He was innocent, and did not deserve to live a life of daily hell.

            He pulled his trunk open and began to rummage around.  Harry was the only one who could help him, the only one who knew.  Everyone else thought Sirius was a mass murderer and a traitor—so he _had _to act.  No one else would.  _But what will you do?_ a nasty little voice taunted him.  _What can _you _do?_  Angrily, Harry shook his head, batting the voice away.  But the truth stayed with him, no matter how little he liked it.  He didn't even know where Azkaban was.  As a matter of fact, Harry didn't even know how to reach the Ministry of Magic, let alone the most secure prison in the Wizarding world.  Cold finality began to creep in.

            _You promised,_ an inner voice that sounded eerily like Sirius reminded him.  _Above all else, you have to remain safe._  

            "Shut up," Harry said irritably, aware that he was talking to himself and feeling like an idiot.  "I have to go."

            _"Whatever happens, stay here," _Sirius had said quietly.  _"I know it's hard for you, even if something happens to me, the Fidelius Charm will protect you.  Trust me on this.  I won't betray you."_

            Harry stopped moving, the invisibility cloak dropping lifelessly from his hands.  He remembered asking if Sirius thought he wouldn't come back, and Sirius had answered, very softly, that there was no way to know, but that he wouldn't abandon Harry while there was breath left in his body.  _"Trust me," _Sirius had asked him.

            Slowly, Harry bent and began replacing the items in his trunk, taking care to bury the invisibility cloak on the very bottom.  Who was he to betray that trust?  Harry had to take a deep breath to still his fears, and in doing so he learned a valuable lesson.  Family trusted, Harry realized.  Independence had its strengths, but there were times when one had to depend upon someone else.  He had to trust Sirius.

            Harry closed the trunk with shaking hands and slowly sat down on his bed, smiling ruefully at his owl.  "I guess it's just you and me, Hedwig."

            She hooted softly, her large eyes meeting his sadly.  All Harry could do was hope that he'd made the right choice.  Waiting went against all of his instincts, yet he _had _to trust.  He had to start somewhere.

---------------------

            Their second meeting was more civilized than the first, and simpler, too, since both Arthur and Molly Weasley had been inducted into the Order of the Phoenix.  Since then, Moody had dubbed their small group "the Hunters" in a rare bout of good humor.  Remus knew that the entire matter was bothering the ex-Auror as much as it bothered him, and like Remus, Moody had thought the painful memories dead and buried when Sirius had been locked in Azkaban.  The fact that they'd both been wrong only made the hurt burn all the deeper, and bitter feelings contributed to everyone's edginess.  

            Snape was late; they had finally started without him.  Discussions seemed to go much smoother without him there—his absence meant that Remus didn't have to deal with his infuriating insinuations of _I told you so_.  More than once, Remus had had to stop himself from rising in defense of the boy Sirius had once been.  For the sake of his sanity, he had to believe that his onetime friend hadn't always been a traitor, though Snape would have it so.  Snape's viewpoint was also infecting the Weasleys, who'd never known Sirius, and Remus often ached to tell them what his friend had really been like.  Only hatred stopped him.  He might have loved the boy like a brother, but he loathed the man Sirius had become.  _Good riddance. _ He deserved the slander.

            "He's always been a risk taker," McGonagall was saying.  "I doubt even a century in Azkaban could change that.  Sooner or later, he'll do something foolish and get caught."

            "Not foolish enough."  Moody snorted.  "You're forgetting, Minerva, that he was an Auror.  He won't be found if he doesn't want to be."

            "He was an Auror?" Molly asked with vague alarm.  Remus felt a sinking feeling invade his stomach, too; this wasn't just about power and darkness.  They had to remember that Sirius knew how the game was played.

            "He was," Moody confirmed darkly.  "The most brilliant student I've ever had."

            Silence fell, and Remus could feel the pain and regret in the air.  Everyone at that table, with the exception of the Weasleys, had once been touched by Sirius.  McGonagall had been his head of House; Moody had been his Mentor.   Dumbledore had welcomed him into the Order of the Phoenix, and Remus had been his friend.  But now they all hunted him, and would do so in the name of the boy whose parents Sirius had betrayed.

            "His glaring weakness is impatience," Moody continued after a moment.  "When he can't stand hiding any more is when we'll get him. Probably not before."

            "And until then?" McGonagall pressed.

            "We keep looking," the ex-Auror replied tightly.  "But don't expect miracles."

            "And we hope," Dumbledore continued gently, obviously trying to head off more depressing announcements.  "Harry is a resourceful boy.  We may yet be surprised."

            It was hard to hope, but… _From James' son?_ Remus suddenly thought.  _I wouldn't put escape past him. _ Molly, however, was even less willing to accept the inevitable.

            "We can't just leave him to his own devices!" the kind witch protested.  "Merlin only knows what Black's done to him already!  And if You-Know-Who has him—"

            "He doesn't."  A stormy and pale-faded Severus Snape strode into the room, letting the door slam shut at his back.  "At least not yet."

            They all stared at him in silence for a long moment, trying to figure how where such an unexpected boon might fit into the grander scheme of things.  Unfortunately, the facts remained the same, and Snape's new revelation made very little sense.

            "Do elaborate, please," McGonagall finally said, her nose wrinkled slightly in distaste.  Obviously, she'd known of her colleague's 'night job' of serving Lord Voldemort for a long while, but that didn't mean she approved.  Or perhaps she was thinking of something else; Remus saw the shadow of remembrance in her eyes.

            Severus took his seat without preamble.  "I have just come from the Riddle House.  Potter is not there."

            "That doesn't mean he isn't somewhere else in Voldemort's possession," Remus pointed out, ignoring the uneasy look on Molly Weasley's face.

            "In fact, it means that he most likely is," Moody agreed in his gravely voice.  "Unless the Dark Lord has taken to sharing _all _his secrets with his followers…?"

            "Be it as it may, the Dark Lord is still searching for Potter," Snape replied haughtily.  "_And _for Black."

            A murmur of surprise raced around the table as Snape's words sank in.  On the surface, it made no sense, but upon further reflection…McGonagall must have read his mind.

            "But why?" she asked.  "Unless…?"

            "He was in Azkaban, Minerva," Dumbledore finished.  "I estimate that the odds of Sirius Black being sane are much lower than the probability of him not being so.  He is, very likely, unaware of his own actions."

            "I wouldn't let him off so easily, Albus," Moody growled.  "I'd rather bet on Black having decided to become a free agent and waiting to see who will bid more for the boy."

            A cold shock ran up Remus' spine, and he had to fight the instinctive need to shout that Moody was wrong.  But on second thought, he had a harder time deciding which option he liked _less_: Sirius being insane, or Sirius auctioning Harry off to whomever could offer him the better deal.  

            The worst part about this was that it wasn't just any boy they were talking about.  Sirius had Harry.  Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived—but who Remus would always think of as James and Lily's son.  This was the boy who had puked on Remus at his first birthday part, the boy who learned to say "Mooey" and had confused Peter and Sirius on a daily basis for the longest of times.  Sirius had kidnapped the child who had been the sole light in their dark world: Harry, James' _son_, whom he'd sworn to protect.  Remus shivered.  Sirius had betrayed them again.

            But a part of him still wondered what Harry looked like now.  All his mental images were of an eighteen month old with brilliant green eyes and messy black hair.  _Lily's eyes.__  James' hair._  Remus swallowed emotion back.  _Don't think about that. _ He wondered if Harry had ended up with James' features or Lily's finer bones.  Did he like Quidditch?  Did he play?  Had he discovered girls yet or was he still just a little too young?  Remus knew nothing about the boy whom he still loved so much.  He didn't even know if Harry had inherited James' talent for mischief making or Lily's more studious genes.  

            Did Harry even know that the monster who held him now was his godfather?

            The thought made him want to weep.

            However, while Remus had been occupied with his own thoughts, the others had fallen silent, likely considering the same problems.  Though it irked Remus to even think about negotiating with Sirius (he was hardly shamed any more to admit that he wanted his old friend back in Azkaban with the Dementors), doing so could become very necessary.  And when push came to shove, he'd take Harry's safety over Sirius' capture any day.  No contest.

            "I suppose, then, that we ought to examine what Black wants, then," McGonagall said with distaste.

            "Freedom."  Surprisingly, it was Snape, and they all turned to look at him.  "He fears Azkaban, and will do anything to avoid return."

            "Can we offer that?" Arthur, who'd previously been very quiet, asked.  "Legally?"

            "I don't see why not," Moody replied immediately, an odd gleam in his one real eye.

            "But we can't just let him wander around loose!" Molly objected, concern on her face.  Probably for Harry, Remus knew.  She, too, loved James and Lily's son.

            "I never said that, lass," the ex-Auror smiled nastily.  Remus' stomach churned.

            "Lie to him?" he asked uneasily.

            Snape sneered.  "You have a better idea, Lupin?"

            It was damn near impossible to keep his face impassive.  "I think there might be a better way, that's all," he replied lamely.

            "Like what?" Snape demanded sarcastically.  "Say all's forgiven and offer the hand of friendship?"

            "I didn't say that," Remus bristled.  "I'm not on his side—"

            "You could have fooled me."

            "—I simply would like to point out that Sirius is smart enough to know that the Order can't offer him a legal pardon at all, even if we were willing," Remus continued doggedly, hanging on to his calm with a gigantic effort.  "He was one of us.  Don't forget that."

            "Excuse it however you want, Lupin," Snape snorted derisively.

            "That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly.  "Remus does have a point.  The Ministry would never allow Sirius Black to walk free, and insane or not, Sirius is intelligent enough to realize that."

            "Perhaps all we need to offer him is a way out," Arthur mused.  "Maybe to America or Canada…?"

            "And invite further crimes in those countries?" McGonagall asked archly.

            Several people opened their mouths to object, but Dumbledore interjected once more.  "Minerva is right," he pointed out.  "Voldemort is not solely Britain's problem, and it is not our place to foist one of his most loyal followers off on another continent and hope to wash our hands of him.  No, we must discuss either what we can plausibly offer Black or how to find him.  Alastor, have the Aurors made any progress?"

            "Not at all," the scarred wizard replied, then explained for the others' benefit.  "I still have several friends in the Auror Division, and I'm kept abreast of developments.  They've checked all the usual places, and there's been no sign.  Black's definitely gone to ground."

            "He's waiting," Remus said quietly.  It was so unlike the old Sirius, the loyal and happy Sirius; that Sirius had hated to wait.  He would have preferred action, even dangerous action, to sitting still and doing nothing.

            "Brilliant observation, Professor Lupin," Snape rolled his black eyes, but Remus didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply.  It wasn't worth it.  Not anymore.

            Arthur's response, however, was bitter.  "So we're back to waiting, then."

---------------------

            Ron scowled, holding the letter in hands.  Errol, the ancient Weasley owl, was staring at him blankly, probably waiting for a treat.  Irritated, the red haired teen glared back.  "D'you think I'm going to give you something for failure?" he demanded.  "Not likely.  Go bother someone else."

            Just as he looked back down at his own letter, though, Errol pecked Ron on the hand.  Hard.

            _"Ow!"_  He swung ineffectively at the owl, who, despite his age, moved away with remarkable agility.  "Ruddy owl!  What did you have to go and do that for?  I just—"

            "Just what?" Fred demanded, barging into Ron's room without warning.  As usual.

            "Nothing."

            "Nothing?" George repeated, hard on his twin's heels, making Ron's scowl grown deeper.  As usual.  "Is ickle Ronnekins having problems with the widdle owl?"

            "Shut up, George."

            "I'm not George," the second twin protested.  "I can't believe you!  And you call yourself our brother—"

            "After this long, I think you'd get it—" the first chimed in.  "_I'm _George.  He's Fred.  Thanks a lot, Ron, for mixing us up yet _again_."

            Ron looked up and snorted.  "Nice try," he retorted.  "You can fool Mum, but that stopped working on me when I was five, _George_."

            The twins exchanged grins.  "All right, fine," George shrugged.  "What's the problem, then?  I haven't seen Errol so angry in years."

            "Not since you were five, at least," Fred grinned.

            "Will you two leave me alone?" Ron sighed.__

            "Nope," Fred replied cheerfully.  "Not a chance."

            "Share the problem with us, brother," George advised him with a grin.  "We're older and wiser.  Who knows?  We might actually help."

            Ron arched an eyebrow.

            "Well, we're _older, _anyway," George amended.

            Finally, Ron had to chuckle, though his amusement didn't last long.  He was too worried.  _What the heck,_ he finally thought.  _Maybe they can help.  _He had to resist the urge to laugh at his own thoughts, though.  The likelihood of Fred and George causing anything short of mayhem was very, very small.  As usual.

            "This is the third letter I've tried to write Harry this week," he explained.  "Errol's brought them all back."

            For a moment, even the terrible twins seemed stumped.  After several long seconds in which they both only frowned, Fred finally offered, "Maybe he got lost.  He is rather old, you know."

            "No, that can't be right," George replied thoughtfully. "Errol's been to Privet Drive a thousand times, unless Ron's been using some other owl we don't know about." 

Ron shook his head mutely, trying not to let his worry show.  What if Harry's awful relatives had locked him up again?  They'd done it the summer before, after all, until Ron and the twins had shown up to break Harry free.  He was sorely tempted to try the same sort of thing again, but he and Harry had lost the flying car in the forest and his mum would _kill _them if they snuck out for a second summer in a row—

            "D'you think that the Muggles are stopping your letters somehow?" George finally asked.

            Ron shrugged.  "I dunno.  It's not like they haven't tried before, but Errol's always gotten through."  He hesitated, swallowing.  "I think—I think something's happened to Harry."

            "There could be a lot of reasons why the letters aren't getting through, Ron," Fred replied immediately.  Both of the twins were serious now; there was no banter and no poking fun at "ickle Ronnekins."  Despite the way Fred and George usually acted, they were his brothers, and the Weasleys were a close family.  The twins understood Ron's worry; they would have felt the same way if their letters to Lee Jordan had mysteriously stopped arriving at their intended destination.  However, with Lee one could usually be sure that it was a joke.  With Harry…

            "Like what?" Ron demanded.  

            Identical blank looks were his only answer, and Ron plowed forward, giving voice to his worry and his frustration.

            "Once or twice can be an accident.  But this is the _third _letter!  And Harry didn't say he was going for a trip or anything—and it's not like the stupid Muggles would take him anywhere, anyway!"  

            "What if…" But George swallowed and didn't finish.  There wasn't, after all, anything to say.

            "Something's wrong," Ron declared.  "I know it.  Something has to be wrong."

            It was the first time he'd dared to even think the words, but Ron knew that he was right.  Harry wouldn't let him down like this.  Something bad had happened, and Ron wasn't as young as his parents thought he was.  He knew that they were going to meetings of some kind, and that something wasn't _right _in the Wizarding world.  Whatever that was, he could bet that Harry was stuck in the middle of it.

            As usual.

 ---------------------

            Alastor Moody paced the floor of his small living room, ignorant of the late hour.  _Step, thump.  Step, thump.  Step—_

            He growled aloud.  Something wasn't right.  Everything was going wrong, and damn Sirius Black was in the middle of it again.  He'd gone of and done what—kidnapped the boy that Voldemort had to want more than anything else in the world, and then simply gone to _ground_?  What the heck was he hiding for?  Moody scowled, and resumed his pacing again.  He didn't know what he had stopped in the first place; for a moment there had seemed to be inspiration at the corner of his consciousness, but it had escaped him somehow.  He hadn't been so frustrated in years, and he was beginning to get angry, too.  The ex-Auror was an expert at sorting out puzzles, but this one simply didn't make any _sense_.  

            _Step, thump.  Step, thump.  Step, thump.  Step, thump.  Step, thump.  Step, thump.  _

            "Damn you," he growled at the world, but Moody knew who it was really aimed at.  His words were intended for the sole hearing of the man who's Department of Magical Law Enforcement file sat on the ex-Auror's coffee table, labeled "Confidential."  The curse was aimed at the most brilliant student he'd ever had, at the Black who had gone against his family and become an Auror—

            "Bastard."

That, too, was aimed at Sirius.  _Black._  Moody had Mentored the kid, had seen his phenomenal flair for the Dark Arts and had assumed it was something inborn.  He hadn't ever even _thought _that Black might be spending his time preparing for something else—for someone else.  The snarl Alastor let escape sounded feral even to his own ears.  _More the fool I, then_, he thought coldly.  _Another mistake to make up for._

            Intellectually, Moody knew that he hadn't made many mistakes in his career, but every single one of them was coming back to haunt him now.  And all of them centered around Sirius Black.  The traitor.  

_            Step, thump.  Step, thump.  _

            "You're going to wear a hole in the floor, Deary," his hall mirror told him.

            _"Stupefy!"_

            A jet of red light flared out from his wand as he spun and took his frustration out on the mirror.  It would have shattered if the ex-Auror hadn't put Anti-Breaking spells on it long ago; as it was, the mirror simply fell silent and bothered him no more.  But Moody certainly didn't feel any better. 

            _Step, thump.  _

            Black's file was glaring up at him from the coffee table; he felt like it had eyes.  _Confidential._Sure.  He'd had a copy of it for years.  Alastor had, of course, scrounged himself up an updated version of it after Sirius'—_Black's!_—escape, but the file hadn't changed much.  Only a few things had, really…except for that glaring omission of the record of Black's horrifying interrogation sessions in the beginning—_Not__ relevant_, he told himself firmly.  Moody had put a stop to that long ago, pulling rank and blackmailing when others' morality had failed.  No one, even Sirius Black, deserved to be questioned under torture—_Not__ relevant._  Moody snarled again.  Let the Dementors have him.

            "He's at Hogwarts," Moody mumbled to himself.  That's what they claimed Black had said, repeatedly, talking in his sleep.  You had to be sane to talk in your sleep, didn't you?  Thinking of that made the ex-Auror shudder.  He remembered a pair of blue eyes staring back at him almost twelve years ago, eyes that were entirely too sane and understood exactly what was going on—_Concentrate!_

            The meaning was obvious, though.  Black was after young Potter.  There was no question about that—and now he had him.  What would he do, though?  What did he want?

            He was getting nowhere.  Moody hadn't been so distracted since he had been a rookie Auror, clueless and fresh out of training.  Now he almost wished for the mirror's senseless prattling.  It was too quiet.  Quiet could be a tool, under the right circumstances, but right now it just made him think thoughts that were best left unthought.  Sighing, the ex-Auror stopped his pacing and headed for bed.  It was well past midnight, and he'd been trying to puzzle through Black's motives for hours, having gotten no closer to the truth.  Experience told him that he'd get no further that night, too.  All he knew was that he was missing something.

            And he knew that he wouldn't sleep well that night, no matter how hard he tried. 

---------------------


	6. The Quarry

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, who is kind enough to let people play in her sandbox from time to time.  

Author's Note:  Double Update!  I've also updated _Promises Remembered, _which is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  

**Grim Dawn** CHAPTER SIX: THE QUARRY 

Four days.

            Harry was cleaning again, because he didn't know what else to do.  As often as he'd wished he could be free of the Dursleys and left alone, having only Hedwig for company was driving him crazy.  He'd finished his homework (including an unbelievably long essay assigned by Professor Snape) on the first lonely day and had been left with nothing to do but worry.  He'd taken to cleaning, then, decontaminating Grimmauld Place step by agonizing step.  Harry did so partially out of boredom, but mostly because it was Sirius' house, the home that his godfather had promised would belong to the two of them.  Kreacher wasn't much help, of course, but Harry was becoming more deft at handling the deviant house elf, and they seemed to have reached an informal truce.  

            But the loneliness still ate at him every day.  Harry ached for his godfather, for his friends, or for Hogwarts.  Living in a magical house only heightened his yearning for the Wizarding World, but that was closed to him now.  Sirius was gone, and Harry was hiding.

            He glanced at the calendar he had pulled out of his trunk, though Harry knew full well what the date was.  School started in two days—but how would he get to Hogwarts if he had no way to reach King's Cross?  More than once, he had toyed with the idea of writing Ron or Hermione for help, but what good was doing so when they wouldn't be able to see him anyway?  Besides, Harry didn't know what sending letters would do to the Fidelius Charm.  For all he knew, Hedwig wouldn't be able to find her way back, and selfish desire for company made him loathe the idea of sending the owl away.

            And then there was Sirius.  Worry clawed its way into his gut and wouldn't leave.  He'd been gone for five days, and that could only mean one thing—Sirius had been caught.  Either the Ministry of Magic or Voldemort had found him, and it meant that Harry was alone.  He'd spent much of his life that way, of course, but after having a taste of real and true family, it was hard to accept. And Harry knew, in his heart, that the Ministry hadn't recaptured his godfather.  Had they, the news would have been plastered all over the front pages of the _Daily Prophet_, and Harry would have known.  

            He chewed on the end of his quill absent mindedly, hemming and hawing over what to do.  The paper in front of him had nothing but a name on it; even if he did send the letter, Harry didn't know what to write.  No one would believe the truth, he knew.  It was so farfetched, so against what the Wizarding world "knew" to be true; he doubted that even Ron would believe him.  Hermione might, but she didn't come from a Wizarding family, which meant that while she didn't share the same prejudices, it also meant that her parents couldn't help Harry.  No, if he turned to one of his friends, it would have to be Ron.  The Weasleys had given him shelter the summer before—but could Harry risk _them _by asking for help?  Sirius was right in saying that Harry couldn't simply hide.  

            So he couldn't drag Ron into it.  And he wouldn't endanger Hermione that way, either.  So there was really no one to turn to.  Harry was used to fending for himself, but without his friends it was unbelievably lonely.  Three years before, he would never have imagined how important they could become, but they _had_.  He'd been alone before Ron and Hermione.  He'd been alone before Sirius…and now all of them were beyond his reach.  Probably.

            Harry sighed and tried to force a smile.  Perhaps there was a compromise.

_Dear Ron,_

_I know what you're thinking.  News of what happened at Privet Drive has probably gotten out by now, but I'm safe.  Really.  I can't tell you where I am, but I'm safe._

_I don't think I'll be able to come back on the Hogwarts Express with you and Hermione.  In fact, I'm not sure when I'll be able to come back to Hogwarts at all.  I hope it will be soon, but I don't know right now.  A lot of things have happened since last week._

_I don't think you'll be able to write me back, but if you send a reply with Hedwig it might get through._

Harry 

---------------------

            "Ron received it this morning," Molly said quietly.  "Unfortunately, he sent Harry's owl away before we could do anything."

            Remus frowned, reading the letter once more.  The handwriting was firm, unruly in the way a thirteen-year-old boy's was expected to be.  Harry's words were more reluctant than scared sounding, too; overall, it wasn't a letter written by a frightened prisoner.  What had Sirius told him?  Had Sirius somehow, in his insanity, gained Harry's trust?  If so, the consequences could very well prove staggering.  It was almost too much for him to swallow, and Remus hoped desperately that he was wrong.  If Harry had come to believe some story that Sirius had told him…

            Remus handed the letter back to Molly without a word.  Their meeting hadn't even started yet, but Ron's mother had been kind enough to show the letter to Remus ahead of time.  The others were filing in now, quiet and solemn.  Snape was the last to enter the staff room, Remus noticed, and his expression was oddly tight.  The Death Eater didn't even wait for everyone to sit before he spoke.

            "Black was at the Riddle House last night," he said abruptly.  "He left as I arrived, but Lucius Malfoy informed me that he spent several hours speaking to the Dark Lord."

He more collapsed than sat into his chair as his knees gave out.  Remus felt his gut go cold.  _It's begun_, he thought darkly, swallowing.  Obviously, Sirius had decided to wait no longer.

"But Harry wrote the letter this morning—" Molly began with alarm.

            "Something's not right."  Moody's bright eyes were focused unerringly on Snape, both real and magical one burning with intensity.  

            "What?" Arthur's head came up; he'd been staring blankly at the floor.

            Moody's voice was hard.  "Did you see him leave?"

            "I already told you that Lucius informed me—" Snape rolled his eyes as he spoke, but his exasperation went right over the ex-Auror's head.  Moody interrupted him easily.

            "You alone?"

             "No.  I was there with several others—"

            Moody cut him off again.  "Who?"

            "Does it matter?" Snape snapped, annoyed.

            "Answer the question."

            "Alastor—" McGonagall tried to intervene before things got ugly, but Snape was already replying peevishly.

            "Goyle and Flint were there also.  Is there anything else I can do for you?  Perhaps provide a dissertation on the properties of the Elixir of Life and the exact procedure for creating a Philosopher's Stone?"  
            Dumbledore opened his mouth to intervene, but for once Moody ignored him.  The ex-Auror's eyes were flashing dangerously, but the sarcasm in his voice matched and met the Potions Master's.

            "That would be splendid," he retorted acidly.  "And while you're wasting our time, I'll conduct a psychological analysis of where you last left your brain!"

            "You are, of course, the residential expert on psychological issues," Snape purred, unfazed.

            "Enough."  Dumbledore's voice was hard now, and his eyes were cold.  There were few wizards or witches in the world who would dare to cross him on a normal day, and there were even fewer who were so foolhardy to try when he looked so implacable—unfortunately, though, Alastor Moody was one of them.  The one-eyed wizard snorted without amusement.

            "It's not my fault that you hired a fool who couldn't find his own arse with both hands and a wand—"

            "I said _enough!_"  The headmaster's voice came out like a whip crack, hard and sharp, and meant to cut.  His normally sparkling blue eyes had turned angry now, too.  "I ask both of you to recall that we are all on the same side.  Regardless of personal differences, we share a _single purpose_—to bring about the downfall and of Lord Voldemort.  And to do that, we must first find Harry Potter."

            His icy blue eyes swiveled to Snape as Moody nodded gruffly, unabashed but acknowledging the point.  After a moment, Snape swallowed visibly under Dumbledore's gaze, and the Death Eater bobbed his head jerkily, glancing down at the floor.  Satisfied with the situation, Dumbledore's visible anger subsided and he spoke softly, though his voice still had a slightly dangerous edge to it.

            "You say that Black has come to Riddle House—and regardless of what you feel, Alastor, I see no reason to doubt Severus' statement—but he has left again?"

            "Yes," Snape answered, pausing to shoot Moody a surly look.  The ex-Auror glowered in return but held his silence, exhibiting a hard-won restraint that Remus was extremely grateful for.  Tension between Snape and Moody had been brewing (and boiling) since the onset of the Order's meetings, and it was clear that it had reached a fever pitch when coupled with the "Hunters" inability to find Sirius or Harry.  Unfortunately, Remus figured that the conflict between the two was inevitable, given their backgrounds—back in the Dark Days of the first war, Moody had been an Auror and Snape a Death Eater.  They were naturally opposed in every way, despite the fact that both had once been proud sons of the Slytherin House.

            "There is no evidence that Potter is yet in the Dark Lord's hands," Snape continued, having torn his eyes away from his rival to do so.  "Contrary to what would seem to be the case, I believe that Black continues to withhold the boy's location."

            "But why wouldn't You-Know-Who simply force the information out of him?" Arthur asked with considerably less distaste than Remus would have expected.  Then again, the Weasleys clearly cared for Harry, and they were undoubtedly more worried about his safety than anything that might happen to his captor.  The fact that Remus felt the same didn't make matters any better, though.

            _Oh, Sirius…_he thought silently.  _What's happened to us?_  But the painful question brought images of James, Lily and Peter to mind, so he pushed it away—but not without regret.  _How far we have fallen.__  We burned brightly while we burned, but oh, we have fallen far…_

            "I'm afraid it's not that simple," Dumbledore was replying, and Remus forced himself to refocus.  "If there is anything we must not forget about Black, it is that he's always been extraordinarily strong."  
            "Not to mention that he's insane," Snape muttered darkly.

            "Don't give him an excuse."  Moody's voice was cold.  "But Albus is right.  Black's a strong-minded individual who can resist Voldemort's efforts to crack his thoughts open.  Black won't tell him a damn thing until he gets what he wants."

            "And so we're brought back to exactly the same place," McGonagall pointed out.  "Wondering what he wants and trying to counter what You-Know-Who can offer."

            Remus swallowed.  "I don't think we can," he said softly.  "If he's after freedom and power, we can't give him either.  Only Voldemort can."

            "And the Ministry won't negotiate, either," Arthur agreed grimly.  "Fudge authorized the Dementor's Kiss if Black is found, regardless of circumstance."

            "What?" Surprisingly, it was McGonagall who snapped what they'd all been thinking; Remus only felt his chest grow tight and cold.  "Without a trial?  Without finding Harry first?"

            "Fudge says that as much as he regrets Harry's disappearance, the chances of him being found alive are low," the Ministry official responded bitterly.  "He claims that his primary responsibly is to protect the public at large from Black."

            There was sudden silence as everyone tried to digest the news, broken finally by Moody's derisive snort.

            "Fool," he muttered.  "But I suppose it's to be expected.  We'll get no help from the politicians, then."

            "So it's left to us to find Harry," Molly said quietly, worriedly.  She swallowed.  "Before it's too late."

---------------------

            Ron's reply was full of questions, and only served to make Harry's loneliness greater.  That was a side effect he hadn't expected, either; Harry had written to his best friend because he'd been terribly alone and desperately needed someone to talk to.  But Ron's eager and worried letter let a gigantic lump in Harry's throat and he didn't really know how to respond.  By the time Hedwig had returned to Grimmauld Place, it had been morning—and now it was eleven o' clock, which left Harry sitting glumly with an empty feeling inside his soul.  Eleven o' clock.  He'd missed the Hogwarts Express for the second year in a row.

            But this time there was no Ron to save him with a flying Ford Angelina.  There was no one to depend upon, now; he sat alone at Grimmauld Place, staring at the clock and knowing that there was nothing he could do.  He was stuck, alone, not quite abandoned but certainly beyond reach—all reach but Sirius', wherever he was.

            Pain knotted up in Harry's chest with that thought.  _Sirius…_ A week had passed since his godfather had gone missing, but it might as well have been al lifetime.  So much time had passed, and so much had changed… His time with the Dursleys seemed to be but a memory, now; the short days he'd had with Sirius were so much more important to him.  And he missed his godfather more than he'd ever missed anyone in his life, even compared to how lonely he was without Ron and Hermione.  Part of that, he knew, was because Sirius was the only family he'd ever known—but the rest was more complicated.  Harry couldn't explain it all, but Sirius' actions had more impact than any mere words could ever have.  He'd risked his life to save Harry, had escaped prison to protect him—and Harry knew only the deepest of love could drive a man to do that.

            And the same feeling kept Harry from rushing out the door and trying foolishly to save his godfather.  The knowledge that _any _action would be futile never even gave him pause, but the fact that Sirius had risked everything to keep him safe did.

            Harry swallowed, reading Ron's letter once again.  Ron had asked him so many questions, had seemed so worried…but Harry knew where this would lead. He couldn't tell Ron anything (even if Ron would believe him, which Harry doubted more and more with each day's issue of the _Daily Prophet_), but his friend wouldn't stop asking—and it could only end in disaster.  Harry couldn't bear to endanger his friends, and he knew that was exactly what would happen…especially if Sirius was right.  And unfortunately, the twinges in his scar and the nightmares he'd had once or twice had no other explanation.  He could hardly remember the dreams—only bits and pieces and flashes came to mind—but Harry knew the truth.  Voldemort was back, and that meant all of Harry's friends were in danger.

            He hesitated, biting his lip.  It was the last thing he wanted to do, but—Harry crumbled up Ron's letter and, screwing up his courage, threw it into the fire before he lost the will to do so.  A part of him felt like jumping in after the letter, which was his only solid link to the outside world, but the rest of him only hurt.  _There_, Harry tried to tell himself firmly.  _It's done._  The letter was gone, and so was the temptation to reply.  If he didn't write back, maybe Ron and Hermione wouldn't get involved… _Sure_, a nasty little mental voice mocked him.  _That'll work._  At least he was fairly sure that Hedwig was the only owl who could see him.  Even the _Daily Prophet's _delivery birds seemed unable to; he'd had to leave money on the counter for them because the owls delivered the paper to Grimmauld Place, not Harry Potter.  The Fidelius Charm made him invisible to them, so Harry was sure that any owl sent to find him would fail.

            Slowly, he stood and wandered down the stone steps and into the kitchen.  He wasn't really hungry, but Harry knew that he should eat—along the way he exchanged a mutually dirty look with Kreacher, who, unlike the owls, was definitely able to see him.  Lately, the foul house elf had taken to capering around and gleefully relishing Sirius' disappearance.  Harry had been sorely tempted to hex him until he'd realized that the very last thing he needed was for the Ministry to locate him through unauthorized use of magic.  So, he'd taken a page out of Sirius' book and thrown the old but solid copy of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ at the house elf, feeling fairly satisfied with his own restraint.  Besides, the giant book had made a nice _thunk_ when it struck Kreacher, and the vile house elf had been much quieter ever since.

            Listlessly, Harry pulled a pot off the rack and started reheating some of the stew he'd made before.  He knew that he had to eat, but hat didn't change the fact that the food would taste like ash in his mouth.  But there was nothing he could do for Sirius, especially considering that his godfather had sealed the front door on his way out, and it steadfastly refused to allow Harry pass, something the boy had discovered, much to his chagrin, several days before.

---------------------

            Snape strode quietly though the corridors of the Riddle House, his eyes and ears wide open and alert for anyone's approach.  Technically, he was not permitted to wander the grounds—no Death Eater was—but if questioned, he'd always excuse it by claiming that he was searching for some obscure potions ingredient or another.  Though that was far from his real purpose, Snape was indeed in need of several rare elements for potions that he was undertaking at the Dark Lord's behest.  That in itself was nothing new, and besides, there were few Death Eaters who would dare question Severus Snape.  And most who could were still in Azkaban.

            His footsteps were nearly silent against the polished wood floor—since Voldemort had returned to the mansion (a place Snape suspected that the Dark Lord kept mainly out of hatred and mostly out of spite) it had been cleaned and restored to its former glory.  There were some uses, however, that Snape suspected the house had never been intended for.  He restrained himself, though, to a purely mental snort.  _Tonight would definitely be one of those._

            Snape had arrived at the Riddle House in the aftermath of one of Lucius Malfoy's infamous raids.  Lucius, who was the Dark Lord's undisputed right hand after his decisive role in Voldemort's rebirth, had an inordinate amount of influence and leeway in his actions, which usually amounted to Lucius brining prisoners "home" to Riddle House.  Not only did this curry favor with the other Death Eaters, but it, in combination with Bellatrix Lestrange's continuing incarceration in Azkaban, ensured that on one would challenge his nominal leadership over Voldemort's followers.  He, of course, offered the prisoners to the Death Eaters, who were welcome to use them in whatever manner they pleased.  Few survived more than a few hours under the circumstances; none were ever permitted to live out the night.

            This time, Snape hadn't bothered to check if they were Muggles, Mudbloods, or simply enemies of the Dark Lord.  He'd only sneered and went along his way, turning his nose up as if such grotesque "play" was beneath him.  And it was; over the years, he'd learned to quell his conscience on such matters.  He couldn't do anything for those poor people, anyway…though he was acutely conscious of the little corner of his soul that broke off each time he simply walked away.  _No matter_, he told himself for the millionth time, thankful to hear the screams fade into the background.  He had a different task to accomplish.

            The air seemed to grow colder as Snape made his way deeper into the Riddle House, heading for the basement that was rarely, if ever, used.  But they're been unsettling rumors as of late, and he needed to know the truth.  The most ironic part about his journey was, of course, the fact that, spy or not, he'd have found himself in the basement—his natural curiosity (carefully masked before the eyes of the world) would have brought him there, even if he had been no more than the loyal Death Eater he appeared to be.  One of Severus Snape's most marked weaknesses—and strengths—was his desire to know everything.  For one, it made him an extraordinary spy, but knowledge was also something that he relished for its own sake.  Especially if it might mean his survival.

            He felt the coldness before he saw them, and an instinctive part of him wanted to turn tail and flee.  Chills began to race down his spine, and voices began to whisper in his ears as they approached—the cold of abandonment and loneliness and the voice of a man whom he'd hated all of his life—_No!_  With gritted teeth, Snape reached his right arm over and pulled his left sleeve back, exposing his forearm for the creatures to sense.  They hesitated briefly, floating above the ground, and he fought the urge to draw his wand on them, thinking belatedly that there probably wasn't a happy enough memory he could focus on to repel them anyway.  Instead, he bared his teeth back at the Dementors and glared his defiance.  Either that or the Dark Mark made them finally back away, though Snape rather figured that it was the tattoo that had long been burned into his forearm.  These were the Dark Lords monsters, no doubt, trained to know and to feel the darkness behind the mark.

            Snape grimaced as the pair of Dementors retreated back the way they'd come, snarling under his breath at them.  He was well aware of the fact that Dementors were blind, and that they hadn't been able to see the Mark at all—but somehow the baring of the Dark Lord's mark had always been the key.  He didn't understand why, but didn't really have to, anyway.  The rumors were confirmed.  At least two Dementors had rallied to the Dark Lord's cause.

            Unfortunately, that realization left a whole host of questions in its wake, not the least of which being _how _Voldemort had gotten a hold of a pair of Dementors in the first place.  Dementors were the most closely monitored of all magical creatures, and for good reason.  There should have been no way that the Ministry of Magic could have lost track of a pair of them—and for all Snape knew, there might have been more.  After all, he'd only seen two, and he'd long since learned to distrust his eyes.  

            He swallowed and stepped forward in the Dementor's wake.  Although he couldn't answer that first question—not now and not down there, at any rate—he could answer the other ones.  Namely, he could figure out how many Dementors the Dark Lord at in his service…and what they were doing at Riddle House, the last place he would have expected them to be.  There had been rumors in the _Daily Prophet _(completely unsubstantiated ones, actually) about Dementors leaving Azkaban and wandering free, but this was the first clue he'd seen that they might be true.  The problem was that Snape also knew that they couldn't be.  Arthur Weasley had checked, and Azkaban still contained every one of its assigned Dementors—except for the ones assigned to hunt Sirius Black.

            _Black_.  Odd, how that bastard seemed to worm his way into everything.  But he really was of no importance at the moment.  The Dementors certainly weren't arguing with Snape following them, even though they had to sense his presence.  Instead, they were drifting deeper into the basement, into the place that had once housed cells for those Voldemort wished to keep—and still did, Snape abruptly realized.  Just as the mansion had been restored, the cells had been returned to their original glory.  _Yet another thing I doubt Mr. Riddle ever expected his grandiose home to be used for!_

            His cautious eyes swept over the empty cells with practiced ease.  This wasn't the first time he'd been there, after all, and he knew this place far too well.  The shadows crossed the walls the same old way, leaving nooks and crannies in darkness and gloom.  Prudence, however, reared its ugly head soon enough, and Snape knew that he'd overstayed his welcome.  Wandering in search of potions ingredients wouldn't excuse his presence down here—especially if he encountered the Dark Lord, whom Severus was far too stupid to bluff.  He almost turned away, then caught sight of the spot that both Dementors were converging upon—and noticed the other Dementor who had been hidden in the shadows.

            There was another figure there, too, lying crumbled on the concrete floor at the third Dementor's feet.  Snape had almost looked over the other completely, and would have, if not for the Dementor's presence—but now he heard strained and raspy breathing that was entirely different from the Dementors' rattling breaths.  Almost unwillingly, he took a step forward, and then another, straining his eyes to see in the dark.  He should have known if there was a prisoner there, any prisoner—

            But what Snape saw shocked him to the very core, and he froze, blinking, as he figured out exactly who that prisoner was.

---------------------


	7. The Truth

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, who is kind enough to let people play in her sandbox from time to time.  **Grim Dawn** CHAPTER SEVEN: THE TRUTH 

            Remus swallowed in the silence.  The others, too, seemed to be doing the same—now that Snape was done speaking, shock was written on every single one of six other faces.  They couldn't believe what they'd heard simply because it wasn't believable.  It didn't make _sense._  Dumbledore, it seemed, was the only one who was unsurprised, but even Remus wasn't fooled by the calm look.  It might have been three in the morning, but Snape had clearly briefed the headmaster while the others had gathered.

            "Quite obviously," the old man said quietly, "this changes everything."

            It was perhaps the single greatest understatement Dumbledore had ever uttered, and none of them knew what to say in reply.  So they only stared, waiting and hoping that the headmaster would be able to pull one more miracle out of his sleeve and explain the entire mess.

            Remus' stomach was churning wildly. Moody had said it days ago—_something wasn't right_.  But what was going on?  Why did Voldemort hold Sirius, who Snape had told them only the day before (had it only been that long) had been at the Riddle House speaking to the Dark Lord?  Now, though, the Death Eater had a completely different story to tell—

            "I managed to speak to Lucius about the situation in private, and he confirmed having lied about Black's presence to mislead Goyle and Flint."  Snape managed to speak the words without so much as a glance in Moody's direction, despite the fact that the ex-Auror had been pestering him about the very same conversation not long before.  "Apparently the Dark Lord does not want Black's resistance to become common knowledge, even amongst the Death Eaters."

            "How long has he been there?" Moody asked abruptly, his brow furrowed and obviously thinking fast.

            "Over a week."

            "That makes no sense," McGonagall interjected flatly.  "Unless this is some elaborate ruse and Harry really is in You-Know-Who's hands…?"

             Snape rolled his eyes.  "I assure you, Minerva, that he is not.  The Dark Lord is still searching obsessively for the boy."

            "Then how—?" Molly broke off with a frown, shaking her head.  Her husband picked up where she left off, no less happy but more composed than she.

            "We've always assumed that Black has been willing to hand Harry over to You-Know-Who," he pointed out.  "But from what you're saying, Black's been resisting every one of Voldemort's efforts to find out Harry's location."

            "That is correct."

            This time it was McGonagall's turn to roll her eyes and skewer her fellow professor with a glare.  "The question you are so artfully avoiding, Severus, is the one we really need to know the answer to.  _Why_ is Black resisting?"

            "If I knew, I would undoubtedly have told you by now," was the dry reply.  His dark eyes suddenly flashed though, and Snape continued, "I do know, however, that Black has apparently cast the Fidelius Charm on the boy to conceal his location."

            His gaze was on Remus now, who felt himself growing white and was unable to reply.  He couldn't even think, but a part of his mind registered the slight twitch of Snape's lips as the other sneered slightly in his direction.  The other's dark gaze was level, but Remus recognized it for what it was.  Triumphant.  Still, a cold lump of horror had nestled its way into his throat and even the anger he _ought _to have felt at Snape couldn't dispel it.

            _Of all the cruel twists of fate…_  Remus swallowed hard.  He had to close his eyes for a moment, just one short moment, to regain control.  This couldn't be happening—the world couldn't possibly be so ironically vindictive—but it was.  And it had.  Unintentionally, Remus dropped his head into his hands.  How had things gone so wrong?  How had everything that had once seemed so perfect withered away into nothingness?  There had been four of them, once, so close and so strong…and now he was alone.  Of the four, only one remained.  _Except…_ Remus tried to shut the thought out, but it wouldn't go.  _There is another._  Yes. One of the other Marauders did remain, the man he'd once known as Padfoot and the boy he'd once loved as a brother—but he was no longer a friend.  He was an enemy, now, and had been for twelve long years.

            But try as he might, Remus couldn't banish the image of Sirius tortured by Voldemort.  How odd and ironic it all was—the Dark Lord wanted Harry, and the man that had betrayed his parents was all that stood in the way.  _Damn you, Padfoot_, he thought painfully.  _Damn you._

            Moody's incredulous voice brought his head up.

            "I suppose Snape was right," the ex-Auror said gruffly.  "He is insane."

            Molly frowned.  "What do you mean?"

            "Obviously, Black's forgotten what side he's on.  Maybe Azkaban just unhinged him, or maybe it's some kind of maniac regret.  Either way, he's not doing what we expected—he's _protecting _the boy."  Moody's eyes flashed.  "Why's not really an issue, then.  The important question is how long that'll last."

            "Not long," Snape replied immediately, but his face was now oddly devoid of emotion.  "No one ever does."

            The words he'd left unspoken drifted over the table, leaving them all to remember the terrifying days of the first war and the bloody trail of broken and dead wizards Voldemort had left in his wake.  Those he couldn't seduce, co-opt or intimidate fell into two categories: those he could break and those he could not.  And everyone the Dark Lord caught inevitably fell into the first group.

            Remus swallowed; he felt sick.  He had always thought of Sirius as one of the strongest people he'd ever met—rash and a little crazy, for sure, but extremely strong, despite the corrupting influence of his awful family.  The _real _Sirius—the pre-betrayal Sirius—had always been one of the few who would fall into the illusive third category: those who Voldemort would seek to break and fail in trying.  Sirius, the old Sirius, would have rathered die than surrender.  Rathered die than betray his friends.  _Or so I thought, anyway, _he thought bitterly.  Those traits had belonged to the boy he'd once known, but the man he _didn't _know had spent a dozen years in Azkaban.  Surely some of his old stubbornness remained, but Snape was right.  No one lasted long.

            "So there you have it," Dumbledore said quietly.  "The problem now is to get to Black before he breaks.  We must find out Harry's location before Voldemort can."

            "But the Fidelius Charm is unbreakable," McGonagall protested.  "Unless Black tells Voldemort, _no one _can find Harry.  Us included."

            Moody nodded sharply.  "Then we have to get Black first."

            "Impossible," Snape stated flatly, even as Molly Weasley gasped in surprise.  

            "But he's—"

            "The only one who knows where Harry is, dear," her husband interjected softly, laying a gentle hand on her arm.  "So he's the only chance we've got."

            "Arthur is correct," Dumbledore agreed.  His eyes cut to Snape.  "And so we must rescue Black.  At all costs."

            After a moment of silence, Snape nodded, his eyes unreadable but his face tight.  No one had missed the silent communication between the two, but few knew what it meant.  Remus understood better than most, having watched his former classmate and the headmaster interact over the past few weeks, but he was still somewhat mystified by the bond between them.  He did know, however, that a word from Dumbledore could make Snape drop old animosities long enough to do the right thing, though, and that in itself was no mean feat.

            "I'd say 'rescue' is rather too strong a word, Albus," Moody interjected in his gravely voice.  "'Acquire' would probably be more appropriate."

            "Indeed," McGonagall snorted.  Her eyes were unhappy.

            Remus' mind was spinning, though.  The thought of seeing Sirius again, no matter what the circumstances, was downright frightening.  He hadn't avoided his former friend for twelve years without reason, after all.  He hadn't wanted to see him, hadn't been able to bear doing so.  The bigger problem was, though, that Remus didn't know how he would react to seeing Sirius.  He would either kill him outright or simply break down.  Either was possible.  He swallowed.  Entirely too possible.

            "He may not be willing to help us, either," Remus pointed out quietly.  Several of the others nodded in wary agreement, and Moody went so far as to grimace openly.  Dumbledore, however, replied serenely:

            "We'll have to cross that bridge when we get there."

            Moody's unhappy expression was in sharp contrast to the headmaster's, and the irony of his reply wasn't lost on Remus.  "I suspect we'll find a way to convince him if we must," the ex-Auror growled.  "But let's solve the first problem first.  Snape, what I need from you is an exact layout and schedule of…"

---------------------

            Remus watched quietly as the third year Gryffindors filed out of his classroom, laughing and talking amongst themselves.  As much as he had come to love teaching (even though he'd spent relatively little time back at Hogwarts so far), this class was often the one he dreaded the most.  Oh, that wasn't because of any of his students—there were no Weasley twins amongst McGonagall's third year lions!  Rather, it was because of the one student who was so prominently _missing _from the mix.  Remus had pinpointed Arthur and Molly's youngest boy on the first day, almost as much from his lost look as from his red hair.  Immediately, the new Defense professor had also noticed Hermione Granger, who sat next to Ron Weasley an kept her voice quiet as she spoke to him worriedly.  Since the very first day, the brightest pupil of the entire third year class had been subdued, and Remus knew why.  She and young Weasley were Harry's best friends, and they were worried.  Remus often futilely wished that he could share the Order's plans with them, but even that, he suspected, would do little good.  The only solution would be to bring their friend back.

            "Professor Lupin?" Hermione Granger's voice jolted him out of his reverie; he hadn't even realized that she was still in the classroom.

"Yes, Hermione?" He forced himself to speak pleasantly, despite his worries.  That was something he had plenty of practice with, after all…

            "Is there any news about Harry, sir?"  She was smart enough to realize that he knew something.  As Remus glanced around the room, searching for a suitable reply, he spotted young Weasley lurking in the doorway with an identically hopeful look in his eyes.  Those two were smart, he knew, and noticed far more than most of the other professors realized.

            "Not yet," Remus said gently, wishing that wasn't partially a lie.  Then again, he couldn't exactly tell them that Moody and the others were converging upon Riddle House at that very moment, that they might have already returned—

            Her face fell, and his heart wrenched.  "Oh.  Thank you, Professor."

            She turned to go.  "Hermione—" Remus spoke almost against his own will, stopping the young witch in her tracks.  "We ought to know something soon," he said quietly.  "If things go right—"

            He stopped, swallowed, and then shrugged helplessly.  Hermione's bright eyes were fastened on him, but she didn't press, even though Ron had wandered back through the still-open door and was watching Remus with equal anticipation.  Looking at their young and hopeful faces, though, only made the professor think of Harry.  These were his friends, friends who were dying a little bit inside every day as they prayed for his return.  They missed him like Remus missed James and Peter, or would have missed Sirius at a point so long ago—_Don't think about that!_—and their love for James' son was plain on both faces.  Remus shook himself.

            "We'll know soon," he repeated quietly, refusing to lie to them.  "One way or another."

            "Thanks, Professor Lupin," Ron spoke for the first time.  His voice was hoarse.  "Let's go, Hermione."

            Remus forced a smile for the pair as they left, and he hoped that they didn't see right through him. He bent slowly to gather his books, placing them in his tattered briefcase and trying to focus his mind on anything but the Riddle House raid.  He would have given anything to accompany Moody and the others, but Dumbledore had forbidden it.  Even if he didn't have classes to teach, the headmaster had reminded him, Remus' personal feelings could only confuse such a tense situation.  The Defense professor tried not to snort.  _As if Moody doesn't have a personal stake in this, either!_  He smiled ruefully.  The ex-Auror's emotions were at least as muddled up as his own, but Remus couldn't honestly doubt Moody's professionalism.  As usual, Moody would get the job done, no matter—

            "They're here."

            McGonagall's voice halted his thoughts in midstream and made Remus' head jerk up so hard that his neck hurt.  The deputy headmistress' face was tight and forcibly composed, but her conflicted eyes were focused unerringly on Remus.  His old professor stood framed in the door of his classroom, unknowingly occupying the exact same place Harry's best friend had a handful of minutes before.

            "Are they—?" Remus' hands were shaking.  "Is he—?"

            He didn't want to know, couldn't want to know—but he had to.  And that was when Remus realized that he'd been lying to himself up until that moment.  He might not _want _to see Sirius, but he _had _to.  

            "Yes."  Her voice was flat, but Remus heard fury.  "Moody brought him to the Hospital Wing."  Her eyes flashed.  "Albus asked me to tell you."

His mouth was dry.  "Thanks."

McGonagall pursed her lips.  She didn't seem to want him to go, but couldn't she see that he hadto?  The anger in her face wasn't aimed at him, though; it was intended for a boy that she'd once loved, too, in her own hard way.  Remus wasn't the only one who was tormented by Sirius' presence, and it had never been so clear as in that moment.  After a moment, though, her eyes softened.  "Go on, Remus," his former head of House said gently.  "You need to, at least, to end this again."

            "Thanks," he repeated, unable to say more, to thank her for understanding, but she nodded, knowing anyway.

            "Come."

---------------------

            Remus had always likened Madam Pomfrey to a lioness guarding her cubs as far as patients were concerned, and this day was no different.  Of course, he had plenty of personal experience with Poppy Pomfrey's aggressive protection of her patients, but there were few Hogwarts students (or former students, for that matter) who were foolish enough to provoke Pomfrey into a full-blown rant.  By the sounds his sensitive ears were picking up, though, someone had clearly been that stupid.  Before he'd even walked into the Hospital Wing, Remus could hear her muffled voice speaking to someone.  Once he had the doors open, however, there was nothing quiet about her words.

            "Get out!" she snapped at Alastor Moody, gesturing angrily with both hands.  The ex-Auror glared back at her, standing tensely next to the bed with his wand in hand.  "I don't care about your security concerns—you are _not _going to hex my patient the moment he wakes up!  It's quite bad enough that you all ready Stunned him to bring him here—"

            "I don't think you understand the situation," Moody cut her off grimly.  "You're forgetting that this is Sirius Black—"

            "I wouldn't care if it was Grindelwald himself!" the matron snarled, interrupting the scarred wizard in turn.  Pomfrey gestured furiously at the bed.  "He's hardly going to do anything in _that _condition!"

            Remus' stride faltered as he finally came far enough into the Hospital Wing to _see._  Part of him struggled to be dispassionate, not to care, but his eyes were still drawn to Sirius' battered form.  His one-time friend lay bloodied and unconscious, with his chest rising and falling with ragged slowness.  There was blood on his face, on his robes—Snape had not been exaggerating when he'd briefly described Voldemort's torture.  He had, in fact, understated Sirius' condition, which Remus should have expected but hadn't stopped to think about.  Even as he watched, the figure on the bed twitched.

            "Transform and you're dead," Moody rumbled as McGonagall led a resisting Pomfrey from the Hospital Wing.

            Sirius' eyes flickered open; they were the same brilliant blue that Remus remembered and were unshadowed by insanity—but they held a haunted quality that had never been there before.  Still, the escaped convict's gaze zeroed in on Moody immediately, and if a shadow of _something _crossed his face, it passed quickly enough.

            "Somehow I'm not surprised," he replied bitterly.

            "Don't be coy, Black," Moody snapped in reply, his eyes flashing darkly.  "Four words from me will bring Dementors crashing down on your head.  Don't think you've got an inch of leeway just because we rescued you from Voldemort's hands.  You don't have any friends here."

            "You won't do it." Sirius' flat voice made Moody's magical eye roll wildly, but the prisoner only sighed, slumping weakly against the pillows and looking blankly at the ceiling.  His tone was slightly exasperated.  "Because you want the same thing he does.  You want Harry."

            His words made something deep and furious well up inside Remus' soul.  How _dare _Sirius speak Harry's name in that smug tone of voice?  How could he stomach it, knowing what he'd done?  Sirius' role in this whole affair required the greatest of hypocrisy—he'd _killed _James and Lily.  What right did he have to protect their son?

            "Don't think there aren't ways, Black," Moody rumbled.  

            Sirius snorted.  "Sure there are.  That's why he's still hidden, and Voldemort's still looking."  His eyes suddenly focused on Moody again, and the emptiness vanished, replaced by a bitter and dark fire.  "D'you think I care what you threaten me with?  I survived twelve years in Azkaban and two weeks in Voldemort's hands.  Do your worst."

            Those words even gave Moody pause, and the older wizard's gruff demeanor faltered briefly, replaced by confusion.  He blinked, and his magical eye zeroed in on Sirius, scrutinizing him carefully.  But Remus just went cold.

            "If you're trying to keep Potter safe, you'd do well to tell us where he is," Moody replied dubiously, clearly biting his temper back.  But his voice was still very tight.  "And you're misinterpreting my intentions.  We are not Death Eaters."

            "Right," Sirius snorted again.  "Could have fooled me."

            A long moment of silence stretched between them in which Remus could sense Moody's temper boiling.  Neither of them were quite able to believe that Sirius had dared to say that, of all things and in all places.  Finally, the ex-Auror demanded, "Do you or do you not care about Potter's safety?"

            "Do you think I'd look like this if I didn't?"

            "Then answer the damned question before Voldemort can find him!" Moody roared.

            A shadow crossed over Sirius' face.  "He won't."

            "So sure of that, are you?" the scarred wizard snarled.  Any attempts at controlling his temper had clearly been abandoned.  "And I suppose the possibility of you being under the Imperius Curse has never crossed your mind?" 

            "Actually, I'm quite sure," was the tight reply.  "I know where my breaking point is—I became quite well acquainted with it in Azkaban, _as you well know_."

            Moody jerked back as if struck, and for the first time in his life, Remus saw the famous Dark Wizard catcher at a loss for words.  There were undercurrents here, deep ones, that he didn't understand, and Remus knew that Sirius had hit a sore spot.  Despite his battered appearance, Remus' former friend was struggling into a sitting position, and fury filled his eyes as he glared back at Moody.  Before, Sirius could drive the bolt further home, though, the Defense professor stepped forward.

            "Where is he, Sirius?" Remus demanded tightly.  He ached to ask why, why he'd done it all, but Harry's safety was more important.  "What have you done with Harry?"

            The battered wizard's head snapped around, shock playing all over his features.  He clearly hadn't expected to see Remus, there, but it didn't take long for a snarl to replace the surprise.

            "Done with him?" Sirius' blue eyes focused on him now, angry and bitter and haunted once more.  "I'm glad that you, too, think so little of me."

            It was a not-so-subtle jab at their dead friendship, but Remus didn't let it affect him.  "He needs to come to Hogwarts," he pressed on, struggling to sound reasonable, though he felt nothing of the sort.  "If you really want to keep Harry safe, this is the best place for him."

            "Really?  I don't trust the lot of you to keep him safe.  You did a bang up job of it when Death Eaters came knocking at Privet Drive, after all."

            "And I suppose that you've had more success?" Remus bristled before he could stop himself.

            "At least I made the effort."

            The knife stabbed and twisted brutally in his heart, just where he was sure it had been intended to hit.  Remus felt a great emptiness threaten to engulf him.  Sirius had no right to say those words—but that didn't keep them from being true.  _"At least I made the effort."_  The bastard.  He'd taken Harry for his own purposes and then had the gall to point out the fact that Remus' condition had kept him separated from James and Lily's son for twelve years—

            "This argument is getting nowhere," Moody interjected, having found his voice once more.  "Whatever else you might be, Black, you're not stupid.  Even hidden, Potter is still in danger, and _you _certainly aren't going to be protecting him any time soon."

            "I—" Sirius blinked, and Remus saw him swallow.  Yes, he knew what awaited him, and knew that no one at Hogwarts would protect him from the Dementor's Kiss.  Something haunted flared up in the prisoner's eyes, and a part of the Defense professor judiciously rejoiced to see something finally deflate Sirius' anger.  He had no pity left for Sirius; what happened now was nothing less than what he deserved.

            "You know he'll be safer here than anywhere else," Moody pressed, taking advantage of the other's discomfort.  "So just tell us where he is so that we can—"

            "No."  The reply was flat, almost dead.  But it was defiant, too.

            "What?"

            "No." Another moment of silence stretched between them, and even Moody seemed speechless.  When threats and reason both failed, what was there left to try?  Worry for Harry still filled Remus' mind, though, because a new thought had occurred to him.  What would happen to the Fidelius Charm if the caster was subjected to the Kiss?  It could be that Sirius was hoping for that very doubt to arise.  Did he count on it to save him from that fate?  The stubborn look on the battered wizard's face revealed no answers, but Sirius finally continued.  "I want to speak to Dumbledore."

            Moody's eyes narrowed suspiciously.  "And why is that?"

            "Because I don't expect you to believe me," Sirius replied pointedly.  Then his eyes cut to Remus without warning and his voice grew bitter.  "And he's too emotionally involved, too ready to hate me for what he thinks is the truth—"

            Remus had had it.  "Don't presume to judge me," he snarled before he could stop himself.  Twelve years of betrayal and loneliness bubbled to the surface after having been locked away for too long.  "You, of all people, have no idea what I feel."

            "Don't I?" his onetime friend retorted.  "Feeling betrayed, alone?  Feeling lied to and abandoned and tossed aside just because of what others _think you are_?  Oh, stay up on your moral high horse and tell me that I don't understand.  Then you can tell me what a hero you think little Peter was for standing up to me and I'll laugh in your face."

            That was the last straw.  Remus took one further step forward and his right hook landed with all the power that his werewolf-enhanced muscles could deliver.

---------------------


	8. The Traitor

**Grim Dawn** CHAPTER EIGHT: THE TRAITOR 

            "Lupin!"

            Moody grabbed his arm, but Remus jerked away.  Every line of his body was tense with fury, and he still couldn't believe his ears.  It took him a long moment to become capable of forming coherent speech, and even then, twelve years of pain colored his words.

            "How dare you?" Remus snarled.

            Sirius stared at him for a long moment, and then blinked slowly.   For an instant, it seemed like his expression might soften, but then he sneered.  "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

            Remus started to snap back, but then a logical corner of his mind finally registered what Sirius was saying, though he could not yet understand.  "What truth?" he demanded.

            "Do you really care?" Bitter blue eyes met his own, and for the first time, Remus saw the pain behind the anger.  "Or would you prefer to hit me again because you don't like what I have to say?"

            "I—" Remus didn't know what he would have said, or if he would have apologized or not (he had once been the level-headed one, after all), but Moody interrupted before he could speak.

            "That's enough," the older wizard said sternly.  "Truth or not, there are more important matters at hand—"

            "No, it's not enough."  Remus was feeling cold again.  He wasn't feeling reasonable, no matter how level he was forcing his voice to sound—his emotions were a whirlwind, but now he had to know.   "What truth?"

            Sirius rolled his eyes.  "I doubt you'd believe me if I told you."

            "Try me," Remus snarled.  The angry wolf inside of him wanted to lash out again, but he had his temper firmly under control once more.  It came out so rarely, and had been so unexpected—but now anxiety was taking over, and he wasn't sure that he _should _know whatever 'truth' Sirius claimed to have…but he knew he had to.  

            Almost unwillingly, he met Sirius' eyes once more—really met them, this time, not glaring back in undisguised fury.  And now Sirius was looking back, too, and the bitterness was fading behind sadness that was deeper than anything Remus had ever seen before.  For a moment, he felt like he was looking in a mirror, back into his own eyes, because he recognized the loneliness and the pain that he saw.  There was something else, though, that he hadn't seen in years: the bitter certainty that no one would understand.  That no one would believe. 

            They might have stared in silence for an eternity; it certainly felt that long.  Even Moody didn't speak; the older wizard seemed to understand that something lay beneath the surface and had to be exposed.  Finally, though, Sirius spoke in a raw whisper.  "Would you believe me if I said that I didn't betray James and Lily?"

            A lightning bolt might have done less damage if it had hit him full in the heart.  Pain and contradicting emotions seized up in his chest, and Remus found it nearly impossible to breathe.  He wanted to believe, wanted to not be alone—but at the same time, common sense scoffed at the notion of Sirius being innocent.  He had known the truth for years.  Why was it that the pain and emptiness in Sirius' eyes made him want to change his mind?

            "What…?" he finally managed.  The word didn't really make sense, in that he was asking who, what, when, where, why, and how all in the space of one gasping breath, but Sirius clearly understood.  Haunted pain swirled in his eyes.

            "Peter," he replied bitterly.  "We thought—no, _I _thought—that it would be the perfect ruse…"

            Abruptly, Sirius looked away, and that one single motion told Remus more than a thousand words could have explained.  Sirius' hands were shaking, and his eyes slid shut for a moment before he forced them open once more.  A cold lump formed in Remus' throat.

            "And you switched," he whispered.  Part of him felt betrayed, because he knew the reason why.  "Without telling me."

            Sirius nodded numbly.  "I never thought it could be Peter…" Fleetingly, he looked up and met Remus' gaze.  There was a distressed glitter behind the haunted pain, now, and Remus could feel the long years of hell his friend had suffered even as his world turned upside down.  Sirius looked away again, his voice breaking.  "I convinced them to change Secret Keepers…it's my fault James and Lily are dead, but I didn't betray them.  You've got to believe me, Moony."  His eyes met Remus' again, and they were desperate now.  "I would have rathered die."

            Remus gulped, and struggled to find words to reply, but Sirius' quietly bitter voice rolled over him like a Muggle freight train, slow and heavy and pained.

            "And I didn't kill Peter."

            "What?" Moody beat him to it, but there was no sarcasm in the ex-Auror's words.  Instead, there was something quickly approaching fear.  

            Sirius scrubbed his hands over his face. "He's here, actually—as a rat, because he got away."

            "Huh?" Moody looked bewildered, and Remus could hardly blame him as he tried to sort the facts out in his own head.  

            "But why did he chase you, then—" Realization dawned.  "But he didn't, did he?  _You chased_him_.  And he escaped…?"_

            "Yeah."  Sirius nodded.  "He yelled for everyone to hear that I'd betrayed James and Lily, and then pulled a wand from behind his back—"

            "And cut off his own finger before he blew the street up," Moody interrupted softly.  "Brilliant."

            Sirius gave Moody a slightly sour look, but Remus' mind was still racing, turning over what his _friend _had said.  "He's here?" the Defense professor demanded, finally catching up with everything. His heart began to race.  "You said Peter is _here_?"

            "He's been hiding with some family as a rat.  I saw his picture in the _Daily Prophet_…Harry said that Peter's 'owner' is his friend, Ron Weasley."

            "Ron?" Remus stuttered, even as Moody's one real eye grew as wide as a Quaffle was round.

            "Weasley?" he demanded.

            Sirius only nodded again.  His eyes were locked on Remus' suddenly, and the need in his gaze was plain.  The words hadn't been said, and they needed to be.  Tentatively, Remus reached a hand out to his friend.  He was only partially surprised to realize that it was shaking.  "I believe you," he said quietly.  The words were surprisingly easy to say.  "And I'm sorry for believing that you were guilty for all these years."

            "I thought you were the spy, you know."  Sirius said tentatively, hesitating before he accepted the offered hand.  "But I didn't _think_—not enough—and I ruined everything…" He winced.  "I'm sorry, too.  If you'll accept my apology."

            "Of course I will." Remus reached out and grabbed Sirius' hand, then dropped onto the bed and pulled his friend carefully into an embrace.  For a split second, he felt Sirius shudder against him, but then his friend returned the hug with equal ferocity.  After a moment, he asked gently, "Did you really think I wouldn't?"

            "I don't—" emotion choked his voice off, and Remus felt him shake his head slightly.  "I…"

            "You've always been a daft one, Padfoot," Remus cut him off kindly, and felt the shiver run through Sirius' body as he used a nickname that his friend couldn't have heard for a dozen years.  "And it isn't your fault," he murmured.  

            "Not to break up the glorious reunion or anything, but we do have several problems to deal with," Moody suddenly interjected, making both friends break apart and look up.

            "Peter is—" Fury threatened to cut Remus off before he could finish speaking, but surprisingly, Sirius shook his head.

            "Harry first," he said quietly, nearly shocking Remus with his restraint.  "I don't trust Voldemort—"

            "As well you should not," a fourth voice suddenly intruded, and Remus twisted, startled to finally notice Albus Dumbledore standing in the entrance to the Hospital Wing.  How long had he been standing there?  How much had he heard?  The old man's face was grave, and he looked coldly powerful in that moment, more so than Remus could ever remember him being.  "Lord Voldemort is on the move," Dumbledore continued levelly.  "Apparently, he still does not know where Harry is, but he has decided that it is time to strike elsewhere."

            Dumbledore's eyes were still focused on Sirius, but before Remus could leap to his friend's defense, the old man nodded ever so slightly in Sirius' direction.  Respectfully—and understandingly.  _He knows._

            "Where?" Moody demanded.

            "There is no way to know," the headmaster replied.  "He is only now gathering his followers to him."

            "So we have time, then," the ex-Auror replied gruffly.

            "Very little, but it appears so, yes."

.           Remus turned.  "Sirius?"

            "Harry's at Grimmauld Place," his friend replied softly.  It was almost amazing how easily he understood Remus, but then again, perhaps they hadn't changed as much as Remus had once thought.  But _Grimmauld Place_?  The one place in the world where Sirius had sworn never to return… The universe, Remus decided abruptly, had a fine sense of irony.

            Moody snorted.  "Snape is never going to let us live this down."

            "Snape?" Sirius' eyes narrowed.

            "He guessed that would be where you would go," Remus tried to explain, ignoring the twisted look of distaste that crossed Sirius' face.  "He's teaching here."

            "I knew that.   It's just…Never mind..."  Sirius frowned, and Remus realized that Harry must have told him.  _What an interesting conversation that must have been_.  But there was hard-won maturity in Sirius' voice now, knowledge of the type that even his career in the Aurors prior to Azkaban hadn't given him, and Remus marveled to hear it.  "I don't like him predicting me, but I'm more worried about Harry."  His eyes swiveled to Dumbledore.  "When can we leave?"

            _So much for maturity_.  But Remus had to smile.  He was almost drunk on the exhilaration—Sirius was back.  It wasn't perfect—nothing ever was—and they had so much to make up for, so much to understand…but this was a second chance staring him in the eye, and he wasn't going to let go.  He replied lightly, "Somehow I don't think Madam Pomfrey will like that much at all."

            "So?" For a moment there was a glimmer of the old Sirius in those blue eyes, and Remus knew that challenging look all too well.  He'd encountered it far too many times to have much pity for Dumbledore, however, when Sirius turned the headmaster's way.

             "You realize, Sirius, that most of the Wizarding world still thinks of you as a mass murderer," the old man pointed out gently.

            "At the moment, I really don't care.  I'd rather make sure Harry is safe before _anything _else."

            Dumbledore smiled slightly.  "I thought that was what you would say."

            "You know, I hate to be the voice of reason, but you really shouldn't—" Remus started speaking, expecting to be cut off and knowing that it wouldn't' work.  He wasn't disappointed, either.

            "Shove it, Moony."  Sirius' voice was very quiet, but his haunted eyes were determined.  "I'm going to get my godson.  End of story."  A ghost of a grin crossed his face.  "Besides, I'd like to see _you_ get into Grimmauld Place without me."

            "I stand corrected," Remus murmured, feeling a real smile of his own.  

            "Well, if that's the case, we'd best do this now," Moody interjected once again.  "Before anyone figures out that you're as stupid as you really are."

            And surprisingly enough, Sirius laughed.

---------------------

            Molly and Arthur answered Dumbledore's summons with surprise, to say the least.  The "Hunters" usually met in the evening, and rarely in the middle of the week, which made this gathering different from the onset.  Neither of them expected to be met by McGonagall, either, and led to the Hospital Wing.  Molly's immediate concern had been for one of her children, but the deputy headmistress had assured her that they were all fine, despite the current Weasley tendency to get into trouble.  She would not, however, tell them any more.

            So the Weasleys were left wondering until they could hear Madam Pomfrey from down the hall, screeching at someone.

            "ABSOLUTELY NOT!" the matron shouted.  "You are not taking my patient anywhere!  I don't care who you are, Moody—and don't you look at me that way either, Remus Lupin!  You of all people ought to know that you can't just waltz in here and do as you please—"

            Through the open door, Molly heard an unfamiliar voice remark:

            "For someone who's so worried about my health, you're sure giving me one hell of a headache."

            McGonagall led them through the door just as Pomfrey launched into another tirade.  "Don't you even start with me, Sirius Black!" she roared.  "You're staying in that bed, regardless of—"

            _"ENOUGH!"_  Moody's bellow cut the matron off and seemed to shake everyone, McGonagall included.  The deputy headmistress did pause to give the ex-Auror a chastising look, but it bounced off of Moody's hard exterior just like everything else always did.

            "Alastor is right, Poppy," McGonagall said gently before Moody could get another word in edgewise.  "I know it's not exactly what you want, but Sirius is the only one who knows how to get to Harry, and—"

            "Excuse me, but _what _did you just say?" Arthur got the words out a split second before Molly thought of saying the same thing, and she found herself stumbling to a halt and watching Remus Lupin help a slender and _familiar _wizard stand up.  His face was bruised and his hair was somewhat shorter, but it was impossible to mistake his identity.  Her ears hadn't deceived her.  That _was _Sirius Black!

            "Arthur, Molly."  Moody grunted a greeting, still glaring at Pomfrey, who didn't even spare a glance in their direction.

            "Oh, dear," McGonagall said quietly.  "Albus didn't tell you, did he?"

            "Tell us what?" Arthur demanded, but Molly couldn't take her eyes off Sirius Black.  What in the _world _was going on?  Unfortunately, she couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say than:

            "That's Sirius Black."

            "Glad you noticed," the convict replied dryly, and Arthur bristled beside her.  The other conversations ground to a halt.

            "Sirius…" Lupin hissed quietly, but not quietly enough.

             "What is _he _doing here?"  Molly turned to McGonagall, searching for answers. Obviously, the raid had succeeded, but she hadn't expected Black to be on friendly terms with Lupin (who claimed to hate him, after all, and whom she'd grown to like quite a bit), or in anything other than a comatose state with Moody in the room.  She certainly hadn't expected the others to be willing to work _with _him, either—

            "That's a slightly complicated answer," Lupin began, only to be cut off by Moody.

            "Which we haven't time for at the moment," Arthur's old friend said gruffly.  "Suffice it to say that Black's not guilty."

            "Not guilty of what?" Arthur asked.

            "Take your pick," Black mumbled.

            "Contain yourself," Moody snapped.

            Black arched an eyebrow in response, and Molly sensed undercurrents between the ex-prisoner and the ex-Auror.  The tension between those two wasn't the only tension in the room, but it was the greatest.  _Wait a minute_… Suddenly, she remembered something Moody had said weeks ago.  Black had been his student once, hadn't he?  Still, though, that knowledge only served to make the scene in the Hospital Wing even more surreal.  Moody had been his teacher.  Lupin had been his friend.  McGonagall—McGonagall looked as unhappy as Molly felt.  She felt her frown deepening, but did not feel there was any reason to hide her suspicion.

            "Regardless of how much time you think we have, I think we need an explanation," she told Moody pointedly.  _And this had better be good!_

            In response, though, Moody only looked at Lupin and Black.  "That's your department," he said gruffly.  "I'm only the muscle.  But make it fast."

            Black shifted slightly, but whether that was from irritation or discomfort, Molly couldn't tell.  He and Lupin exchanged a heavy glance, though, before the convict turned to face the Weasleys, ill-concealed impatience in his voice.

            "I didn't kill Peter, I didn't kill all those Muggles, and I don't want to kill Harry," he said.  Then his sarcastic gaze cut back to Moody.  "Is that short enough for you?"

            The ex-Auror only grunted, but Molly swallowed.

            "Then you're really not working for You-Know-Who…? she asked hesitantly.

            "Voldemort?" Molly shivered; Black snorted.  "Not in this lifetime."

            And there he stood, the last son of one of the Wizarding world's oldest—and darkest—families, looking her straight in the eye and declaring that he was innocent.  The pain in his eyes swayed Molly far more than the defiance did, though; she could see the shadows and the memories lurking in the dark.   Only then did she begin to realize what he must have been through, and if he was innocent…

            "Then who betrayed the Potters?" Arthur asked, and the expression on Black's face confirmed his innocence.

            "Peter Pettigrew."  His voice was a snarl.  "Who isn't as dead as everyone else thinks he is."

            To Black's left, Lupin's face had also tightened, and his voice was much more controlled—but nearly as angry—when he spoke.  "But that's a matter for another time," the Defense Professor pointed out, looking at his friend.  "And for others to deal with."

"I said I wanted to find Harry first, Remus," Black said coldly.  "Not that I didn't want to kill Peter.  I've spent twelve years in Azkaban.  I'd like to commit the murder they imprisoned me for before I get tossed back in there."

            Lupin turned white.   "No one said—"

            "No, but I know the Ministry."  Black laughed harshly, and then turned a meaningful glance in Moody's direction.  "I'd say that Fudge will be less than willing to listen to my story, wouldn't you?"

            "He'd better dammed well listen, or I'll do to him what I did to Crouch," Moody growled.

            "What?" Lupin asked with confusion, also turning to look at the ex-Auror.

            "Blackmail and weasel and con until he either leaves office or I ruin his career," the one eyed wizard replied with a satisfied smirk.  "Of course, it cost me _my _career last time, but I don't have a job to lose these days."

            "You—"  

            Black started to speak, only to cut himself off, staring at Moody with wide eyes.  Slowly, though, his old Mentor nodded.  "I may be a hard man, boy, but I serve the law," he said gently.  "All of it."

            "Oh."  Black had to swallow several times, and his blue eyes were huge.  "Thanks."

            "Don't thank me for doing the right thing, Sirius."  Moody's voice was uncharacteristically understanding.  "Let's just get this thing done."

---------------------


	9. The Return

**Grim Dawn** CHAPTER NINE: THE RETURN 

            Molly still felt very uneasy by the time they finally reached the front door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.  She'd _heard _of the Blacks' ancestral abode before, and was well acquainted with the endless tales about the traps, tricks, and horrors hidden within its walls.  It was said that the maniacally pureblood Blacks only inhabited a house that was surrounded by Muggle real estate for one reason: only they knew its secrets.  The Blacks were a powerful and power-hungry lot, and although Molly was related to them (distantly, but never distantly enough!), she knew no one in the family.  In fact, she wouldn't have wanted to know them, even if they hadn't considered the Weasleys to be the worst kind of blood traitors there were.

            She shivered as Black tapped his wand on the door.  He still walked with a slight limp and moved very gingerly, especially after Apparating.  Now that they had arrived, he seemed fairly confident, but before that he'd been quiet.  The walk across the Hogwarts grounds had left him distant and cool, and Molly had to wonder if there was something they were all missing.  The door opened after a long moment, though, and while she waited, Molly chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully.  She didn't like the situation at all, but she had to admit that things had gone as planned thus far.  Moody carefully watched the street, and Lupin stood close by Black's side.  The Defense Professor's face was calm, but there was a joyful gleam in his eyes that Molly couldn't miss.  She frowned.  _And there I was, thinking that our original group of "Hunters" was mismatched and oddly colored.  If that group was strange, this one is simply surreal.  Come to fetch Harry are the convict who captured him, a professor he doesn't know, his best friend's parents, and a paranoid ex-Auror._

            That thought, however, rekindled her rising excitement.  No matter how they had gotten there, the strange little group was about to accomplish their ultimate goal.  In less than five minutes, they were going to rescue Harry—

            "Sirius!"

            The door had opened to reveal a messy haired boy and the wand he'd been pointing cautiously in their direction.  A split second later, he bolted forward, dropping the wand carelessly and launching himself into his godfather's arms.

            Black accepted the sudden embrace without a protest, though it had to hurt.  Immediately, he wrapped his arms around Harry, and his face showed no pain, only relief and joy.  "Hey, kid."  Black spoke softly, tipping Harry's face up to look him in the eye.  "Are you okay?"

            "I'm fine," Harry replied quickly.  He was grinning from ear to ear, but the happy expression faltered after a moment.  "Are you—?" 

            "I'll be all right," the other replied quietly, but Harry's perceptive eyes widened, looking at Black's gaunt and pale features and clearly understanding what had caused the pain they all could see.  

            "What happened?"

            Black squeezed Harry's shoulder with a familiarity that made Molly's heart clench.  "That's not important right now," the convict responded.  Harry opened his mouth to object, but Black shook his head ever so slightly.  "I'll tell you later.  What we need to do now is get you to Hogwarts."

            "Hogwarts?" Conflicting emotions whipped across Harry's face; it was obvious that a part of him wanted very badly to return to the school he loved, but the other side—Molly shivered as Harry's gaze swept over their little group.  His eyes had suddenly become sharp and mistrusting, and he glared at them with suspicion instead of the joy she had expected.

            A nervous lump formed in Molly's throat.  Didn't he realize that he was saved, that it was over?  Tentatively, she stepped forward.  "Harry—"

            "What are they doing here?" he demanded, cutting her off without so much of a glance; Harry's eyes were focused on Black alone.

            "They're friends," Black assured him with a crooked and somewhat strained smile.  As Harry looked at him, though, Molly saw the disbelief in his eyes—but it wasn't mistrust of Black.  Rather, Harry didn't believe that the _others_ were there to help him.  It pained Molly to see Harry so bitter; she had hoped that his innocence would remain for just a little while longer.  It hurt to see him losing his youth so quickly, especially when Harry had had such a hard life already.  She swallowed and bit her lip, praying that Black could convince him—and that they could trust the convict at all.

            The gaunt wizard squeezed the boy's shoulder again. "I believe you know the Weasleys, Harry," he continued, "but this is Remus Lupin—Professor Lupin, it turns out, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  And this is Alastor Moody, a former Auror."

            Harry's eyes seemed to question Black one last time, and Molly could see the trust between them.  Remus, too, must have noticed the silent exchange; the defense professor's eyes were glowing sadly.  _No…_  Sad wasn't precisely the right word; there was definite happiness on Remus' face, but a deep regret also existed there, and it seemed almost as if he, too, was afraid to hope.  

            "Erm…Hello," Harry finally replied.  Molly wanted to hug him, but she didn't really dare.  She didn't know how he would react or if he would want her to at all—Black's hand was still on Harry's shoulder, and neither showed signs of moving.  "Sorry about the welcome."

            "It's all right, Harry," Remus said when the others seemed unable to frame a reply.  "You have every reason not to trust us."

            "You were my dad's friend too, weren't you?" Harry asked abruptly.

            "Yes."  Remus' voice was tight, and Molly couldn't help but notice how his eyes flew up to briefly meet Black's.  "I was."

            "Then will you promise me something?" Harry continued, his voice suddenly uncertain.  But Remus only smiled gently.  He didn't even hesitate.

            "Of course."

            Harry glanced up at Black, his gaze suddenly fierce, and then transferred his eyes back to Lupin.  "Promise me you won't let him kill Scabbers until they prove he's innocent."

            "Harry—" Black's jaw had gone slack with surprise.

            "Please, Sirius," Harry pleaded quietly, looking into his godfather's eyes.  "I want him dead, too, but I want you free more than I want him dead…and I don't think my dad would want you to be a murderer just for him."

            There was a suspiciously wet gleam in Black's eyes, and his shocked expression softened with affection.  Remus responded when the escaped convict seemed unable to.

            "Of course I will, Harry," he said quietly.  "I'm not about to let Sirius wind up in Azkaban again, anyway…and whatever he does, he won't be doing it alone."  There was a hard promise in those last words, and Molly wondered if Harry understood what it meant—but the teen nodded grimly. 

            "Thanks."

            Something in his voice made Molly grow cold.  Was it the bitter acknowledgement of old betrayal, or was it simply callous agreement with that call for vengeance?  Either way, Harry didn't blink an eye, and she was certain that he _completely_ understood Remus' words…possibly better than Molly herself did.  His green eyes no longer looked at the world with a childlike wonder—they were hard now, the gaze of an adult.  Harry's innocence, she abruptly realized, was gone forever.

            "Shall we go?" Black's uneven voice broken the loaded silence.  Still, though, Molly could not miss the fact that the escaped convict squeezed Harry's shoulder, ever so slightly—and there was such comfort in their relationship.  An irrational part of Mrs. Weasley felt jealous over that, too, even though she knew better.  Black had known Harry for such a short time…what had he done to deserve such trust and _love_ from the teen?  But a nasty little voice inside her conscience knew the answer.  _He saved Harry's life_, she reminded herself. _No matter what else he might be—or what he and Remus claim he _isn't_—Black risked his own life to save Harry's.  And he almost died in doing so._

            "By all means."  Moody spoke for the first time, his magical eye swirling wildly.  "We've spent too much time in one place all ready, and the Death Eaters are bound to figure out why we're sneaking around soon.  Especially considering—" 

He broke off and shrugged, but Molly knew what he meant.  _Especially considering Snape_.  Hogwarts' Potions Master was still one of You-Know-Who's spies, and Dumbledore master plan called for him to reveal their mission to the Dark Lord—just too late for any action to be taken.

            "Alastor's right," Arthur spoke for the first time.  "I know you have lots of questions, Harry, but they'll have to wait until we're back at Hogwarts."

            Remus nodded in agreement and opened the door, gesturing gracefully for Moody to precede him.  "After you."

            "Wands out," the ex-Auror commanded gruffly, shooting a glare in Harry's direction.  "Even you.  Underaged wizardry be dammed; we can't be too careful."  Then Moody clomped out the door with as much enthusiasm as his wooden leg would allow.

            But Harry hadn't moved.  He stood stock-still, frozen to the spot and staring bleakly at his godfather.  "Voldemort's back, then, isn't he?"

            Molly struggled not to gasp at Harry's flat use of the Dark Lord's name, but Black's voice was level.  

"Yes.  He is."

            "And that's where you were."  His words weren't a question, but they were bitter—and angrier than Molly had ever heard Harry sound.  His fury, however, was not aimed at Black.

            "I was."

            The silence stretched on, and a part of Molly marveled at the convict's self control.  _I really must stop thinking of him that way_, she told herself suddenly. The longer she was in Black's presence, the more Molly wanted to believe him—especially when watching his obvious care for Harry.  However unlikely it seemed, the two of them had formed a deep and profound bond.  It wasn't something she would have expected, but Harry had clearly begun to view his godfather in a different light.  The anger in his voice only confirmed that: Sirius Black was family to him, family that Harry had needed for a long time.

            "Okay," the teen finally responded.  "Let's go."

----------------

            Their little caravan flew into Hogwarts some time later, wind-swept and weary, but none the worse for the wear.  They'd debated over using a Portkey to reach the school, but in the end, Dumbledore had vetoed that idea.  Harry needed time, he said, to readjust to Hogwarts before the Ministry started crawling all over him.  An authorized Portkey would require detailed explanations, which would undoubtedly end with Fudge at the school, and an _unauthorized_ one would only bring the Minister in faster.  The last thing they needed, Dumbledore had reminded them all, was for Fudge to bring Dementors in before he was convinced of Sirius' innocence.

            That point had quelled even Moody's most energetic protests.  Flying always made Molly a bit green around the edges, of course, but Harry was well worth it.  So she pointedly ignored the frizzled mess her hair had become and tried not to hand the borrowed broom over to Madam Hooch with too much relish.  The "Hunters" had landed on the currently empty Quidditch Pitch (Ravenclaw's Quidditch tryouts had been forcibly rescheduled despite their objections) and only Hooch and McGonagall had been waiting.  Hooch didn't even attempt to restrain her grin, but the stern Head of Gryffindor was frowning.

            "Welcome back, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said levelly.  "We were quite worried about you."

            "I—" Harry blushed, hesitated, then swallowed.  He spoke plaintively.  "I'm sorry?"

            Suddenly, McGonagall smiled.  "I wouldn't dwell upon that too much if I were you," she chuckled dryly.  "Your godfather has quite the history of creating trouble at this school, after all.  This certainly isn't the first time."

            "You can say that again," Remus muttered under his breath.  But he, too, was smiling, and even Black's thin face seemed slightly amused.

            "Welcome back, Sirius," McGonagall continued quietly.  "I don't believe that I said that before."

            She offered a hand, and to Molly's slight surprise, her eyes were a little misty.  Seeming startled, Black took it, speaking hoarsely.  "Thank you, Professor."

            "Minerva," she corrected him gently.  "You're an adult now, after all.  The name is Minerva."

            "Professor."  A mulish look crossed Black's face, but he quirked a smile after a moment.  "Perhaps someday I'll forget all the detentions you gave me, but until then, you're Professor McGonagall."

            They all chuckled, and Molly saw Remus' eyes dance.  Reaching out, he touched Black's arm with a familiarity that would have shaken Mrs. Weasley only a few hours before.  "Let's get you back to the Hospital Wing and Harry back to his friends.  They ought to be in the Great Hall by now."

            Molly glanced up at the sky and was almost surprised to see that dusk was fast approaching.  She had been so worried about bringing Harry back safely that she hadn't really noticed how much time had passed.  Even now, they'd be serving dinner in the Great Hall.

            "That's a marvelous idea," Molly agreed.  "I'm sure everyone is hungry."

            "But—" Harry glanced at Black worriedly, but his godfather smiled a bit.

            "It's a long walk, kid," the escaped convict said gently.  "We'll have plenty of time to talk on the way."

            Slowly, their mismatched party walked into the sunset, moving at Black's gimping pace and filling Harry in on what had passed while he'd been in hiding.

----------------

            They reached the Great Hall quickly enough, but Dumbledore met them outside, preventing the group from entering.  Harry shifted uneasily under the gaze of those intense blue eyes, but the old headmaster smiled.  "Hello, Harry."

            "Sir."  Harry didn't know why he felt so uncomfortable, but he feared becoming a source of friction between Sirius and the headmaster.  Dumbledore might not like the fact that Sirius had kept Harry hidden for so long, no matter how good Sirius' intentions had been, or how well his plan had worked.  But Harry knew that Sirius needed Dumbledore's help to prove his innocence.  Without it, the Ministry would never believe him—

            "I'm glad to see that you are safe," Dumbledore continued, smiling and making Harry blink.  The relief on the old wizard's face was plain, even to the teen's inexperienced eyes.  "And also, of course, that your godfather is as well."

            "Thanks."  He didn't know what else to say, but Dumbledore seemed to understand, because he smiled before turning his gaze away.

            "Professor Lupin, would you be so kind as to take Sirius back to the Hospital Wing?" The headmaster's eyes twinkled.  "I believe that Madam Pomfrey is rather _eager_ to see him."

            "Of course."  Lupin nodded graciously, but Harry saw a mischievous gleam in his eye.  _This is going to be an interesting year_, the teen thought to himself.  Lupin clearly wasn't anything like his former Defense professors—especially if half the stories Sirius had told him were true!  Harry had never particularly liked Defense Against the Dark Arts as a subject (who could, with Lockhart teaching it?), but he had a suspicious feeling that it was going to become one of his favorite classes this year.

            "Oh, lovely," Sirius mumbled under his breath, making Harry smile sympathetically.  He completely understood the bear-like ferocity that Pomfrey guarded her patients with, and he certainly avoided the Hospital Wing whenever possible, too.  Even if that hadn't been too possible the year before.

            "I'll be able to talk to you later, right?" Harry asked, trying not to sound apprehensive.  Yes, Sirius had told him what happened earlier that day, how Moody and the others had freed him from Voldemort's hands, but Harry was still afraid that Dumbledore wouldn't believe everything, that Pettigrew would get free and Sirius would go back to prison—

            "Of course you will," Sirius answered patiently, obviously reading the worry that Harry was trying so desperately to hide.  The teen flushed, then smiled apologetically.  Sirius, at least, understood.  "I'm not going anywhere."

            "All we ask, Harry, is that you do _not _tell your friends about Pettigrew," Dumbledore interjected quietly, making Harry's head spin around.

            "But—"

            "We will deal with Pettigrew."  The gentle headmaster's voice was suddenly hard, colder and more dangerous than Harry had ever thought it could be.  "I promise you that.  But we need a little time to prepare, in order to insure that Pettigrew is caught and Sirius can be free."

            Harry swallowed, forced back his wildly rising hopes.  "All right."  

            He didn't like the thought of not telling Ron right away, but then again, if it meant Sirius could be free, and that Harry didn't have to live with the Dursleys ever, ever, again—anything was worth that, even weathering Ron's temper.  After all, it wasn't like Pettigrew could do anything in the middle of the Great Hall, was it?

            "How long?" Sirius asked, and Harry heard the tension behind his even tone.  Even though they hadn't had all that long together, Harry knew his godfather well.  Sirius, too, was impatient, and with a very good reason. 

            "A few hours," the headmaster replied.  "No more."

            Sirius nodded, and turned to Harry.  "I'll see you then."

            "Okay."

            Harry watched for a moment as Lupin and Sirius moved down the hallway, then felt McGonagall's hand suddenly land on his shoulder.  "Come along, Harry," the deputy headmistress said.  "I believe your friends are waiting."

            _Ron and Hermione._  Excitement welled up within him so quickly that it was almost impossible to control.  Until that very moment, Harry hadn't let himself believe that he was going to see them again—and so soon!  He'd missed them terribly, and even though he wouldn't trade a minute of his time with Sirius for _anything_, Harry had so many things he wanted to tell them, and had spent an entire summer with his infernal Muggle relatives, yearning for the magical world.  Most of all, though, he'd missed his friends.  

            Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, he noticed, were walking down the hall with Dumbledore, heading in the opposite direction from Sirius and Lupin.  McGonagall, though, steered Harry through the doors before he could notice where they were going—and in truth, he didn't really care.  He felt his eyes widen as he looked upon the Great Hall for the first time since his second year, taking in the high ceiling (it was showing a cloudless and star filled sky at the moment), the long tables, the hundreds of conversations and the ghosts flying around at random—and he was home.  Harry inhaled deeply, and his senses were assaulted with the sweet smell of dinner.  His stomach rumbled.

            "Harry!"

            Hermione's screech, however, took his mind completely off of his stomach.  She was rushing towards him, suddenly, her bushy hair flying behind her.  Conversation in the hall had stopped, and he heard Ron yell his name, too (though his other friend advanced at a slightly more controlled pace), and then Hermione had reached him, throwing her arms around his neck.

            "Oh, Harry, where have you been?  We were so worried about you—weren't we, Ron?—and there have been rumors about you being kidnapped and that letter—How could you write such a letter and not tell us _anything_?  Oh, I'm so glad that you're safe!  You'll have to tell us everything that's happened and why you were gone and—"

            "Let him breathe, Hermione!" Ron gasped, laughing so hard that he had to hold his sides to keep himself from shaking.

            She stepped back quickly and blushed.  "I'm sorry!  I just—"

            "No, it's okay."  He was grinning from ear to ear, and so were they, but they deserved far more explanation that Dumbledore wanted him to give.  "It's so great to see you both again." 

            "You, too, mate."  Ron's smile was so large that it seemed likely to split his face in two.  "Where have you been?"

            "Later."  Harry was suddenly aware of the many eyes upon them.  Half the Great Hall had fallen silent in order to follow the trio's exchange.  After all, Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, and he'd missed the first week of classes.  The _Quibbler _had even reported—shockingly—that he'd been kidnapped by Sirius Black.  Even though no one really believed that rumor, every student wanted to know where he had been during that time.  "I'll tell you later," he said more quietly.  "I promise."

            His two friends exchanged a glance.  "All right," Hermione finally replied as Ron smiled again.

            "We'll hold you to that, you realize."

            "Of course."  And Harry did want to tell them—to tell them everything—but he remembered Dumbledore's words and vowed to bite his tongue.

            Still grinning, his two best friends pulled Harry over to the Gryffindor table and sat on either side of him.  Immediately, Ron launched into a summary of everything that Harry had missed while he was gone, pausing only to wolf down his dinner at random intervals.  For his part, Harry dug into the food with relish.  As accustomed as he was to cooking for himself or the Dursleys, his own meager talents came nowhere close to the quality of the Hogwarts fare.   

            "So Wood was starting to get really worried about the Quidditch team.  He was talking about finding a new Seeker, but there was really no one to do it—" Ron paused to down a gulp of pumpkin juice.  "I mean, Ginny was talking about trying out, but—"

            "Ron!" Hermione shot him a dirty look, and not far down the table, Harry saw Ron's younger sister go red.

            "Sorry."  Ron bit off a chunk of chicken before continuing, but he didn't sound particularly regretful.  "Anyway, Wood was going batty about Quidditch.  Fred and George said he was acting worse than ever, moaning on and on about how they'd lost their best Seeker ever."

            "And Professor Lupin is really good," Hermione interjected before Ron could start waxing on about Quidditch.  "So far we've studied all kinds of dark creatures like—"

            "You missed the best class ever, too," Ron cut her off, grinning like a madman.  "The first day, Professor Lupin brought a boggart to class—"

            "A boggart is a dark creature," Hermione explained helpfully when she spotted Harry's blank expression.  "It changes its form to the thing you fear most, unless you use the _Riddikulus_Charm and turn it into something funny."

            "Oh."  He tried to keep disappointment out of his voice, but it was hard.  Most students would have been grateful to extend their summer holiday, but Harry loved Hogwarts.  Though he didn't blame Sirius at all, he wished that he hadn't had to miss so much.  Fortunately, Ron didn't seem to notice.

            "But you'll never believe what Neville's boggart turned into."  Ron paused, glancing furtively around the Great Hall before continuing with relish.  "_Snape._"

            "Oh, Harry, it was so funny!" Even Hermione was laughing.  "When Neville cast the charm, Snape came out wearing Mrs. Longbottom's clothes, with this awful hat on."

            "And carrying a huge crimson handbag," Ron finished joyfully.  They all laughed together, then, and Harry couldn't help glancing at the head table.  Immediately, he noticed the perpetual frown on a familiar pale face, but that only made the situation even more amusing.  Professor Snape was the one thing he hadn't missed about Hogwarts.

----------------

            A short time later, the trio headed up to Gryffindor Tower, hoping to get ahead of everyone else and have time to talk.  But along the way, they encountered whole groups of other students and were delayed in their journey.  Most of the others only wanted to welcome Harry back, but it slowed their progress and Harry could tell that his friends were getting impatient for answers.  Finally, a tense meeting with Malfoy crystallized his decision.

            "Come on," he said quietly, ducking around a corner.  "We're never going to get anywhere at this rate."

            "No kidding," Ron breathed.  He and Harry exchanged grins.

            Hermione only asked, "Where are we going?"

            "Myrtle's bathroom."

            "Oh, brilliant.  We trade a bunch of well-wishers for a moaning and whining ghost."  Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry could tell that he didn't mean it.  Ron shot Harry another glance.  "She fancies you, you know."

            "She's dead!" Harry objected.

            Hermione snorted dryly.  "Somehow, I don't think Myrtle cares."

            Suddenly, Harry felt the need to employ some of the choicer phrases that Sirius favored when faced with irritating things like ferocious coat racks, strangling robes, biting wardrobes—and lovesick girls who had been dead for fifty years.  Finally, he settled for muttering irritably under his breath as his friends laughed.  Ron looked a little sympathetic, but Hermione only smiled.  

            "Look at it on the bright side, Harry," she said, pushing the bathroom door open.  "At least she can't follow you around."

            "Thank goodness," Harry agreed with relief, then gestured for his friends to be silent.  The last thing they needed was for Myrtle to hear them talking about her—the sensitive ghost would never leave them in peace if she did, and Harry didn't think he could take all that wailing.

            The door shut behind them with a click.  The trio waited for several long moments, listening and watching, but Moaning Myrtle was nowhere in sight.  Ron sighed.  "I think we're in luck."

            "Myrtle's not all that bad," Hermione objected.

            "Yes, she is!" both boys responded immediately, and then laughed together.  By mutual consent, the three teens found a place where they could all sit and made themselves comfortable.  Not too long ago, Harry remembered brewing Polyjuice Potion in that very same spot, and he smiled a little bit.  Myrtle's bathroom had always been a great place for secrets.

            "So what did you want to tell us, Harry?" Hermione asked.  Her voice was calm, but he could see the tension beneath the surface.  The same feelings were mirrored in Ron's eyes, too, so he took a deep breath and began to speak.  

            "It all started at Privet Drive…"

-------------------

            Several minutes later, Harry paused.  His reason for doing so was twofold—first of all, he was out of breath from talking so much, and second, had had to decide what else to say.  He'd just described how Sirius had saved him from Malfoy and Avery, and had reached the point in this story when they made it to Grimmauld Place—but what else should he say?  He couldn't' tell them about Peter/Scabbers just yet, but he wanted to tell them the truth.  And he so didn't want to lie to Ron and Hermione, or even to leave parts out for their own safety--

            "But why did you go with Black?" Hermione asked the moment he stopped speaking.  "That was really dangerous!  He could have killed you, or worse!" 

            "He saved my life."  Harry fought back the urge to snap at her.  She didn't know Sirius.  She couldn't understand.

            "But he's a murderer, Harry," she objected.

            "No, he's not."

            "What?" Hermione gasped, staring at Harry as if he'd lost his mind.  But a sudden thought occurred to him, and he no longer had time for her confusion.

            "You don't have Scabbers with you now, do you?" he asked Ron hurriedly, suddenly realizing his mistake.  Ron's brow creased in confusion.

            "No.  Why would I?" His friend gave him a strange look, then shrugged.  "I left him back in the dormitory to keep him away from her mad cat."

            "Cat—?"

            "Yeah.  She's got a loony cat named Crookshanks, and he wants to eat my rat."

            "Ron, he's just being a cat!" Hermione objected.  "Cats chase rats.  It's not Crookshanks' fault.  He doesn't understand."

            "Whatever."  Ron shrugged, his attention still on Harry.  His look was very dubious.  "You were saying that Black isn't a murderer?"

            "No, he's not," Harry replied firmly, ignoring his best friends' doubtful frowns.  "He was framed."

            "I know you want to believe him because he saved your life," Hermione began in a very small and hesitant voice, "but he's got every reason to lie to you."

            Harry shook his head.  He'd expected this.  "It goes a lot deeper than murder, Hermione," he replied.  "Sirius is my godfather."

            "Your what?" Ron gaped.

            In that moment, looking at his two best friends' faces, Harry knew what he had to do.  Ron and Hermione deserved to know everything, and unlike his professors, Harry knew that his friends wouldn't overreact.  "Scabbers" wasn't there.  There was no risk—other than Ron running out to murder his rat the way Harry knew he would want to.  But Ron would listen, and if the worst happened, Harry and Hermione could always Stun him and deal with the consequences later.  Harry sucked in a deep breath and took the plunge.

            "When my parents went into hiding, they used the Fidelius Charm, which concealed their location in a single person.  Unless that person told someone, no one could find us.  Sirius was supposed to be their Secret Keeper.  He was my dad's best friend," he explained slowly, trying not to think about his parents too much.  Harry had had time to come to terms with what had happened, but that did not mean that it still could not hurt.  "But at the last minute, he and another one of my dad's friends, Peter Pettigrew, switched places.  Peter betrayed them to Voldemort."

            Hermione gasped softly, but other than that, she and Ron watched Harry in sympathetic silence.

            "But everyone, including Dumbledore, thought Sirius was the Secret Keeper.  So when he went after Peter, Pettigrew started screaming that Sirius had betrayed my parents.  Then he blew up the street, killing a dozen Muggles and making it look like Sirius had done it."

            "Pettigrew died?" Ron asked quietly.  Meanwhile, Hermione only frowned; Harry could see her smart mind already beginning to work.

            "No."  Harry shook his head.  "He cut off his finger and escaped down a sewer, as a rat."

            "He's an Animagus!" Hermione exclaimed.

            "Yeah.  But no one knew, because he was unregistered, and so no one believed Sirius," he replied tightly, anger coloring his voice.  "So they sent him to Azkaban."

            "But how do you know that he's telling the truth?" Ron wondered.  "Not that I don't believe you, Harry, but you have to admit that it sounds awfully fishy."

            "Because I know where Pettigrew is," Harry responded grimly. "He's here."

            Hermione's jaw dropped.  "He's not—"

            "Ron, I need you to promise me something," Harry interrupted her.  "Promise me that you won't do anything.  I'm not supposed to tell you this at all, so you've got to promise me that you won't do _anything_."

            There was a long moment of silence, then his friend shrugged.

            "I don't really understand why—but sure.  I promise," Ron said trustingly.

            "Okay," Harry breathed.  He trusted Ron, and knew he'd keep his word.  "It's Scabbers.  Pettigrew is Scabbers."

----------------


	10. The Godfather

**Grim Dawn** CHAPTER TEN: THE GODFATHER 

            The trio was almost back to Gryffindor Tower when they ran into Professor McGonagall, and the look on her face made Harry immediately wish for his invisibility cloak.  Unfortunately, his dad's old cloak was packed safely away in his trunk with all his other school stuff; it had been sent ahead while he went straight to dinner, and he hadn't even thought that he might want it in his first few hours back at Hogwarts.   However, the stern head of Gryffindor House was frowning deeply as they approached, and he began to wish that he could sink right into the floor since disappearing didn't seem to be an option.

            "There you are, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said pointedly, standing right between the trio and the Fat Lady's portrait.  "We've been looking for you."

            Harry swallowed.  "We were just catching up a little, Professor," he replied lamely.

            "It's my fault, Professor McGonagall," Hermione piped up earnestly.  "It's been so long, and I just wanted to talk to Harry and Ron alone—"

            "Let it rest, Ms. Granger," the deputy headmistress interjected.  "It might have worked during your first year, but you are no longer innocent enough to take the blame for these two's foibles."

            Hermione blushed, but McGonagall glanced at Ron, studying his face for a long moment before speaking to Harry once more.  Her eyes narrowed.  "You told them, did you?"

            "Yes, Professor."  What else could he say?  One simply didn't lie to _that _woman.

            "Well."  She pursed her lips unhappily and then turned back to Ron, her decision made.  "In that case, Mr. Weasley, I believe it is time for you to fetch your rat."

            "Now?" Ron squeaked.  He was still swallowing the truth, Harry knew, and really wouldn't believe that "Scabbers" was Peter Pettigrew until he saw it with his own eyes.  That, however, was a feeling that Harry understood completely. Sirius had shown him the _Daily Prophet _picture and explained for hours, but even then a part of Harry had a hard time believing that his best friend's rat was really a murderer in disguise.  "Scabbers" had slept in the same dorm room as Harry for two years and had never done anything more monumental than serve as a poor guinea pig for Ron's various attempts at transfiguration.

            "Yes, now." McGonagall gave Ron a hard look.  "Go quickly, and then I will bring the three of you to the headmaster's office."

            "Yes, Professor."  Arguing with McGonagall was like opposing a force of nature, and two years at Hogwarts had taught all three of them not to bother.  Ron bolted for the portrait hole right away, muttering the password and disappearing inside.  Harry and Hermione moved to follow, but a raised hand from their professor stopped the pair in their tracks.

            "I'm certain that Mr. Weasley can fetch a rat by himself," she pointed out  "And his doing so alone has less chance of alerting Mr. Pettigrew to what is going on."

            It was the first time Harry had heard her say the traitor's name, and as Hermione nodded their acquiescence, he contemplated the feelings behind McGonagall's words.  Normally dispassionate and scrupulously fair, the Transfiguration professor rarely allowed her students to know her opinions about other people.  In fact, Harry had never heard her speak unkindly about another adult—but he noticed the tight manner in which she said Pettigrew's name.  There was distaste in her words, maybe even hatred.  Sirius had once mentioned that McGonagall had been his own Head of House at Hogwarts, which meant that she'd known and taught Pettigrew.  Did she hate him, too?  Before that moment, Harry would have thought that impossible, but now it seemed likely.  Anger, too, was buried beneath her calm face.

            Ron returned quickly, holding a squirming "Scabbers" in his hands.  In response to Hermione's questioning glance, he explained.  "Crookshanks tried to eat him again."  Ron's voice turned dark.  "I'm starting to agree with that mad cat."

            Hermione laughed nervously.  "Maybe we should bring him," she suggested thoughtfully.  "In case P—Scabbers tries to run away." 

            "Somehow I do not believe that will be a problem," McGonagall replied dryly.

            Harry opened his mouth to object, and then shut it with a snap, remembering _McGonagall's _Animagus form.  Surprisingly, their Transfiguration professor chuckled upon seeing the look on his face.

            "Ten points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," she said with a slight smile.  "Seeing as how I am much less likely to eat 'Scabbers' than Ms. Granger's erstwhile pet is." 

            The boys snickered, and even Hermione laughed, but the moment of humor passed quickly enough once they all remembered what their purpose really was.  "Come," McGonagall said abruptly, turning and sweeping down the hall without waiting to see if they were following.  "There is much to be done, and others are waiting."

            _Others?_ The word lit a fire in Harry's head, and he knew exactly whom McGonagall was talking about.  A huge grin split his face as he thought about Sirius—even though they'd had the walk between the Quidditch pitch and the castle to talk, there was still so much he wanted to discuss with his godfather.  Not only did he want to know exactly what had happened when he'd been in Voldemort's hands (and not the evasive and vague answers Sirius had given him before), but he also couldn't wait to introduce Sirius to Ron and Hermione.  He was certain that his godfather would like them, and he'd told Sirius so much about his friends—

            "Exploding Bon-Bon."

They had reached the entrance to Dumbledore's office, and Harry was startled out of his reverie.  McGonagall's voice was level, perhaps even prim, but it was all Harry could do to stop himself from snickering out loud.  There were times when the deputy headmistress barely seemed able to stomach Dumbledore's eccentricities, and this was certainly one of them.  The expression on McGonagall's face did not waver, though, as she shot a glance over her shoulder and beckoned the trio forward.

            "Scabbers" squeaked as the gargoyle jumped aside to reveal the hidden spiral staircase.  Though he'd previously been still, the rat began to struggle in Ron's hands, biting and clawing with terror.  Even McGonagall paused, glancing back at Ron and his struggling pet with a frown on her face.  But she did not comment when Ron snarled a curse under his breath, sympathizing, perhaps, with his bleeding fingers and knuckles.

            "Is he—?" Hermione began hesitantly.  Ron growled.

            "I think he's beginning to catch on, Professor."

            "Indeed." McGonagall's eyes narrowed.  "Fortunately for us, though, Mr. Pettigrew has come to that realization a little bit late."

            Her use of the traitor's name silenced the rat immediately—or perhaps it was the cold stare she bestowed upon the struggling creature.  For a long moment, it seemed as if "Scabbers'" eyes widened in terror, and the rat squeaked only once more, plaintively this time.  But there was no more pity on McGonagall's cold face than what Harry felt for the "rat."  There was only the absolute certainty that this would end—now, and forevermore.  The lies would stop, and finally, perhaps, Harry could have a family.

            "Don't even bother," Ron finally said, looking down and breaking the silence as Pettigrew started to struggle once more. Harry's best friend squeezed the rat tightly and smiled grimly.  "You're not going anywhere."

            The three students, one professor, and one misfortunate rat stepped into the staircase, which began to spiral upwards almost immediately.  When they reached the gleaming oak door, McGonagall raised the griffin shaped knocker and rapped it sharply against the wood once.  Pettigrew squealed loudly, but the door opened, revealing a sight that made the rat fall completely silent.

----------------

            Ron followed Harry into Professor Dumbledore's office, a place that he'd only been once before.  That visit, though, had been very different from the present one.   At the very beginning of the school year, he and Hermione had been called to the headmaster's office so that Dumbledore could personally inform them that no one knew where Harry was or when he was coming back—or even _if _he would be coming back to Hogwarts.  Now, though, he came through the door on Harry's heels, with a squirming and squealing rat in his hands—and then Scabbers suddenly fell silent.

            Ron looked up as his pet­—_Pettigrew!_ he mentally swore—froze in terror.  For a moment, he could not quite understand why, but then Harry stepped aside and Ron was able to see who else was in the room.  Dumbledore, of course, was sitting behind his desk, but there were two others present.  Professor Lupin caught Ron's eye first, but he hardly had time to wonder _what _their Defense professor was doing there before he noticed the other wizard.  

            The fact that his was the same face that had graced the front page of the _Daily Prophet _for weeks wasn't what caught Ron's attention.  Rather, it was the intensely haunted blue eyes that immediately focused on Scabbers that sent a chill down the teen's spine.  Sirius Black's hair was shorter than it appeared in the _Prophet_'s pictures, but he was every bit as scrawny and bony and _terrifying _as the escaped convict had seemed in the paper.  The robes he was wearing seemed oddly out of place with the gaunt features and haunted eyes, though, because they seemed relatively new and clean.  Then again, Ron supposed that Black had been at Hogwarts for a while, so it figured that someone would have solved that problem for him.

            Abruptly, Black tore his eyes away from the rat and looked at Ron's best friend.  "Hello, Harry."

            "Hi, Sirius."  Ron shot a sidelong glance at his friend, and noticed the blazing grin on Harry's face.  Suddenly, though, Harry gestured at Ron and Hermione.  "These are my two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

            "Hello," Hermione said hesitantly as Ron blinked in surprise.  Even though he _knew _that Black was innocent, this was still so weird—but he wasn't about to be outdone by Hermione, of all people.  Not in this lifetime.

            "Eh…Hi.  Nice to meet you."

            Pettigrew came out of his stupor with a start, and began struggling even as Ron said the words.  Snarling under his breath, Ron hardly heard Black's response, but he knew that Harry's godfather had returned their greetings with almost as much surprise as the two teens had offered them.  Sharp claws dug into Ron's fingers, but he hung on doggedly, glad that his mother wasn't around to hear the curses he was mumbling under his breath.  Of course, McGonagall's disapproving eyes burning into his back were hardly better, but at least the old Transfiguration professor wasn't about to send him a Howler for breakfast.

            "Perhaps we ought to save pleasantries for later," Professor Lupin suddenly put in, making Ron abruptly realize that his eyes, too, were on the struggling rat.

            "Yes."  Black's voice changed.  It was now hard and gravelly—deadly.  It sent a shiver down Ron's spine, and he was grateful that those burning blue eyes were not fastened on him.  

            Pettigrew squealed under that hard gaze, and nearly slipped free of Ron's hands—but he bit back the feelings that he wanted to express when Dumbledore looked at Harry and spoke.

            "I understand that you have explained the situation to Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley?" the headmaster asked quietly.

            "Yes, sir."

            Of course, Harry didn't add that both Ron and Hermione still had dozens of unanswered questions, but Ron understood that this wasn't the time.  Later, there would be plenty of chances to find out everything—but they had to get this done first.  Whatever else he might have been, Ron wasn't blind.  He could see how important proving Black's innocence was to Harry.  His friend's voice fairly bubbled with excitement, and his eyes were glowing.  Few people ever realized how lonely Harry was, but Ron had always known.  From the very first, even when he'd just learned that his companion was the famous Harry Potter, Ron had always seen the desperate need for the family that his friend had never had.  _And he deserves it,_ Ron thought to himself, watching as Harry abruptly caught Black's gaze.  The change was astonishing.  The escaped prisoner's gaunt face creased immediately into a smile, making him look vaguely human for the first time.

            Surprisingly, though, it was Lupin who stepped forward.

            "May I see the rat, Ron?" the Defense professor asked courteously.  The teen blinked.  He'd expected McGonagall or Dumbledore to ask, or even Black—but what did Lupin have to do with all this?  Come to think of it, what _was_ he doing there at all?

            Hermione's elbow dug into his side as she hissed his name and Ron shook free of his confusion.  Carefully, he handed "Scabbers" over.  

            Lupin handled the rat with surprising ease, avoiding the flying claws and snapping teeth with practiced casualness.  His brown eyes were glinting, though, as he grasped the supposed Animagus by the scruff of the neck, and hinted at emotional undercurrents that the professor wasn't showing.  Suddenly, Ron got the impression that Black wasn't the only person in the office with a grudge against Pettigrew.  Lupin's next words confirmed that.

            "Shall we do this together, Sirius?" Lupin asked tightly.

            "Yes," the other replied quietly.  "I think it would be fitting."

            Together, they lifted their wands, and Ron stopped to consider what might happen if Scabbers wasn't really Pettigrew—but he found, unsurprisingly, that he didn't much care. He believed Harry, and that was enough.  Suddenly, Black and Lupin spoke, casting the spell simultaneously, even though hardly a word had passed between them.  A brilliant light flared, momentarily threatening to blind them all, but when Ron blinked to clear his vision, Scabbers was gone.  A short and balding man stood in his place, hunched over and shaking.  Behind him, he heard McGonagall's muffled exclamation, and even Dumbledore's eyes widened ever so slightly.  To his right, Hermione gasped quietly, and Harry was shifting impatiently from foot to foot.  Only Black and Lupin seemed unsurprised.

            "Hello Peter," Lupin said after a tense moment of silence.  "It's been a long time."

            "R-Remus… S-Sirius…" the small man stuttered, his eyes shifting nervously between the pair.  "My…my old—"

            "Don't even say it," Black cut him off harshly.

            "I don't…I don't—"

            "Understand?" Lupin finished pleasantly.  But then his voice turned to iron.  "That makes two of us."

            Pettigrew's eyes flew wildly around the room.  "You don't—you don't _believe _him, do you, Remus?" He finally seemed to find his voice.  "He's—Sirius is _crazy, _Remus.  He's here to kill me!"

            "If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already," Black grated.  His voice seemed to come from beyond the grave.

            "No one is going to harm you, Mr. Pettigrew," Dumbledore said quietly, speaking for the first time.  "What we seek is the truth."

            "Truth?" Pettigrew squeaked..  "He's here to kill me!  You have to believe me.  Please…" He cast another desperate glance around the room but encountered only stony faces.  "He's lied to Remus like he lied to James and Lily—"

            "How dare you." Black stepped forward, radiating power and anger and _death._  "How dare you even speak their names?  James and Lily _trusted _you.  They trusted you with their lives, and you betrayed them!"

            "Me?  But I couldn't, I wouldn't…" Suddenly, Pettigrew flung himself at Lupin, clutching madly at the Defense professor's robes.  "You have to protect me!  He wants everyone to think that it was me, but he spent twelve years waiting to kill me and now he's lied to you—Remus, you _have _to protect me!  Please, Moony, don't let—"

            "Don't ever call me that." Lupin's voice was ice, and he tore away from Pettigrew with disgust.  "_Traitor._"

            The small wizard winched pitifully.  "But I didn't…" 

            "Didn't what?" Black sneered, moving to Lupin's side.  He was shaking now, but Ron couldn't tell if it was from anger or emotion.  "Didn't think?  Didn't _care_?"

            "Please… Someone has to believe me…." Again, Pettigrew glanced around, looking for support.  His voice was broken, pleading.  "Professor McGonagall…?" He swallowed. "You know I wouldn't…"

            "No."  Her voice was hard, and Pettigrew flinched as if struck.  

            "But—"

            "No.  You will find no pity here, Peter.  We know the truth."

            The fight seemed to go out of Pettigrew, and he didn't try to protest McGonagall's pronunciation of his guilt.  His face crumbled, and he turned to the others one by one, searching for hope that he seemed to know he would not find.  Unyielding expressions met his pleading eyes, though, and when Dumbledore shook his head, Ron knew it was over.  Pettigrew shuddered, then unexpectedly whirled around, stepping towards Harry and stretching his hands out beseechingly.  "Harry, please.  Don't let them kill me… You're James' son.  He would understand."

            "You betrayed my parents," Harry said coldly. "If I didn't want you alive to prove Sirius' innocence, I'd kill you myself."  Something about Harry's stiff posture and hard face told everyone in the room that he wasn't lying—and Pettigrew seemed to realize that, too.  Frenzied, he spun back to face Lupin and Black, wailing:

            "But I was your friend!"

            "You were more than that."  Lupin's voice broke.  "You were our brother."

            "Then please… I didn't have a choice… You-Know-Who would have killed me!"

            "Then you should have died," Black snarled.  "Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!"

            "But I've never been strong—"

            "You were strong enough to lie to us," Lupin snapped, showing anger for the first time.  "Strong enough to break our friendship.  Don't lie to us, traitor.  You joined Voldemort a year before James and Lily died."

            "But no one can resist him," Pettigrew whined.  Ron knew the expression he wore, though he'd never seen a grown wizard with it before.  Pettigrew was searching for pity, now, not hope or forgiveness—he was hoping that Black or Lupin would falter in their anger and feel sorry for someone who had obviously once been their friend.

            "Sirius did." Lupin's voice became very quiet, and Ron felt his own eyes widen as he listened to the part that Harry had left out and realized the _other _reasons why Black's eyes were so shadowed.  "Resisted even when no one believed him, when everyone blamed him for what you did.  So don't tell me that it's impossible, Peter.  I know you too well.  We know you were once much stronger than that.

            "But I want to know why."  His tone could have frozen molten lava.  "Tell me why you had to break the best thing we ever knew."

            The short man flinched again, more in reaction to the icy fury than to the pain that was so obvious on Lupin's face.  Suddenly, though, Black stepped forward and laid a hand on Lupin's shoulder.  

            "I don't care why he did it."  Pain also marred his gaunt features, but his voice was harsh.  "I want to know if it was worth it."

            Pettigrew opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.  Black advanced upon him, then, stopping only when he was an arm's reach away and staring down at the shaking wizard.

            "Was it worth it?"

            There was no answer.

            "And what did you hope to gain, _Wormtail?_  What could you hope to gain that would possibly match everything you've already lost?"

            Finally, tears began to streak down Pettigrew's cheeks, but Black did not react.  His voice softened slightly, but grew no less cold as he continued:

            "We loved you, Peter.  We would have died for you.  But you threw that all away.  You threw everything away."

----------------

            By dawn, a squad of Aurors had come to escort Azkaban's newest prisoner off of the Hogwarts grounds—Dementors would have been sent, but Dumbledore had refused to let them anywhere near the school, much to Sirius' relief.  But Pettigrew was gone, now, and it was over. Over.  Though Sirius' trial was scheduled in two weeks time, everyone knew that it was a mere formality.  The support of Albus Dumbledore, Arthur Weasley, and Alastor Moody more or less sealed his case; as little as Cornelius Fudge wanted Sirius Black to be innocent, the proof was irrefutable.  Pettigrew would testify under Veritaserum, and it would be done.  

            Finally.

            He felt like a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  Twelve years of hell and self-reproach could not vanish in a few moments time, but for once, he felt hope.  Sirius no longer felt that he had no future.  Darkness no longer beckoned from the path ahead, and although he hadn't slept all night (he'd been awake for over forty-eight hours, when all was told), Sirius felt better than he had in years.

            "You're going to be free, you know," a quiet voice said from beside him, and Sirius grinned.  Really grinned, now, not just an effort at remembering a talent he'd lost.  He was officially in the "custody" of Albus Dumbledore, but everyone involved knew that really meant that he couldn't leave the Hogwarts grounds.  Of course, with Harry at Hogwarts, there really wasn't anywhere else Sirius would rather be.

            "I know."

             They were sitting outside together, watching the sun come up.  Neither had slept, but neither really cared.  They hadn't talked too much, either; mostly, Remus had told Sirius the story of his last twelve years, and Sirius had in turn told him of Harry and the short time they'd spent together.  Most importantly, though, they had _talked_.  Although twelve years of bitterness and blame still separated them, the gap was smaller now.  Much smaller.

            "Is it hard to believe?" Remus asked gently.

            "Yeah."  Sirius took a deep breath.  "Sometimes I tried to dream of being free…but it never lasted.  The only fantasy that I could ever make stick was revenge.  I never really thought that I might be able to live again…"

            Remus' hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed gently.  "And now you can.  Have you talked to Dumbledore about Harry yet?"

            "Yeah.  He's not very happy about it, but we've come to an agreement."  Sirius smiled slightly, feeling the sudden urge to snicker—something he hadn't done since he and Harry had been together at Grimmauld Place.  

            "Oh, really?" his friend asked mildly.

            This time, Sirius did chuckle.  "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you about that."

            "Something tells me that this ought to be good," Remus responded dryly

            "It's not that bad," he objected, trying to sound offended and failing miserably.  He was too happy to be even feign being offended—but still, he heard Remus hesitate and knew that a strain of formality remained in their relationship.  They weren't yet all they had been…but time could change that.

            "Coming from you, I find that difficult to believe," Remus finally responded, having overcome his uncertainty.

            Now, however, Sirius had to deal with uncertainty of his own.  He'd felt so certain of this solution earlier, when Dumbledore had presented it, but now…now he was almost afraid.  Afraid to hope that everything might be okay, that he and Remus might become the close friends that they had once been.  He forced himself to take a deep breath before speaking, and struggled to keep his tone light.

            "So, what do you plan on doing this summer?" Sirius asked.  He resolutely kept his eyes focused on the horizon and away from his friend, but he heard the frown in Remus' voice at the abrupt change in subject.  

            "Probably go back to my cottage," his friend replied slowly.  "Get by how I can."  The unspoken remainder of his answer floated in the air between them: _At least I'll have a job to come back to next year._  After a moment of awkward silence in which Sirius tried to figure out how to continue, Remus wondered, "Why do you ask?"

            "Well…" he swallowed.  "I was wondering, sort of…if maybe you'd like to spend the summer with me and Harry at Grimmauld Place.  It'd be safer for Harry with us both around…"

            He stole a glance at Remus, trying to discern his friend's reaction.  Sirius knew that Remus was fiercely independent and absolutely hated the thought of accepting charity.  Even though Remus had been poor for much of his life, and doubly handicapped by his condition, he had always been determined to fend for himself.  Sometimes, the very strengths that made Remus _able _to be so self-reliant meant that he was too stubborn for his own good, though, and Sirius really hoped that Remus would not misinterpret his offer as mere charity.  While his friend hesitated, undoubtedly trying to come up with a polite way to refuse, Sirius continued doggedly.

            "And I'd really appreciate it if you could…if you would," he added quietly.  Remus stared at him blankly, and Sirius found it difficult to meet that direct gaze.  A small corner of his battered soul immediately tried to retreat, wanted to find that safe and secure place within his mind where he could hide, but Sirius wouldn't let it.  He had to make Remus understand…had to get past the growing fear of being alone.  He had to figure out how to phrase this so Remus could understand.  "It's just that we have so much to catch up on and I think it'd be good for Harry…"

            "And for you," Remus said quietly, suddenly.  Their eyes met, and it was like looking in a mirror: both of them had known too much pain for far too long.  Sirius saw his friend hesitate before admitting, "And probably for me, too."

            "Will you, then?"  He was almost afraid to ask.

            Remus smiled.  "Of course.  Someone has to keep you out of trouble."

            "Impossible."

            They laughed together.  The riposte had been almost automatic—almost, if not really so.  He wasn't really himself, not yet…but he was close.  Maybe.  

            "Moony and Padfoot, together again," Remus mused.  "Dumbledore doesn't know what he's getting into, does he?"

            Sirius chuckled.  "Nor does Harry."

            "Oh, they'll find out."

----------------


End file.
